Watch me Bleed
by ReluctantSlashFan
Summary: Shawn loses someone close to him and must pull himself together to help find their killer. Title a Tears for Fears song. Story set after STASITD
1. Chapter 1

**I am re-posting this story because my page breaks went missing for some unknown reason. I know it sucks. Anyway, these characters are not mine…**

_**Psych**_

**1989…**

Contrary to what Henry believed, it wasn't Shawn's fault this time. It had been Gus's idea to take that walk around the neighborhood. If Gus hadn't suggested the bout of exercise, Shawn never would have seen the sign declaring the yard sale at the Mitchell's. He wouldn't have suggested they stop by to browse for a while. And he wouldn't have found the slingshot.

Yes, in a way, the death of the Jefferson's bird was his fault. Yes, he did fire the rock. But, he didn't ask it to go astray. He, also, didn't open the window and leave the bird's cage sitting in the open. No, that was Physics and the owner's fault. And Shawn had tried to explain that to his father. Only, Henry didn't see his logic.

"Shawn let me get this straight," his father started crossing his arms and towering over his son as he sat at the kitchen table. "It's Gus's fault for suggesting you two take a walk and allowing you to catch sight of the yard sale sign. It's the Mitchell's fault for selling you the slingshot. It's Physics' fault for making the rock go off course. And it is also Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson's fault for opening their window and putting their bird near it. And the only thing you are guilty of is shooting the rock." It didn't escape Shawn's attention that his father found his story to be utterly absurd.

"Exactly," Shawn said trying to convince his dad with one word. Instead, Henry took his slingshot and sent Shawn to his room grounding him for two weeks.

_**PSYCH**_

**2009-1 MONTH AGO…**

"Honestly, how could the grocery store run out of pineapple," Shawn complained passing the produce section for what felt like the fiftieth time.

"Shawn, I'm pretty sure it's not going to magically appear," Abigail commented gently swinging their interlocked hands back and forth.

"Pineapple is a magical fruit, Abigail. I'm sure they have some type of power. Maybe they read minds."

"I don't think so."

Shawn sighed and said, "Then I'll have enough faith in the possibility of pineapple powers for the both of us."

"And I support you," Abigail said with a smile. Shawn returned the smile, gently pulling her towards the exit. Before they could leave, he caught sight of a comment box next to the sliding doors. Abigail dropped her head to her chest when she realized what he saw.

"One comment," he pleaded, already heading toward the box.

"Only one," she asked remembering the last time they went to the store together. That time Gus tagged along and the two spent fifteen minutes making up silly comments.

"Yes, only one. I promise." He raised his hand in the Boy Scout salute.

"I didn't know you were a Boy Scout," Abigail commented following him to the stand.

"Yes, it was a life experience I wish to never recall, again."_ But sadly still do_, he thought as he pulled the pen from the stand, wondering why places were always so protective of them and chained them to the stands. He pulled a comment card from the stack and scribbled, _**Get Pineapple**_**, **across the line. He stuck it in the box, put the overly protected pen back, and took Abigail's hand again.

They left the store, the automatic doors sliding closed behind them. Shawn glanced up the street, noticing the four people scattered throughout the sidewalk.

Two of them-a tall, gangly brunette guy and a shorter, fake tanned blonde-were arguing close to a bar with a bright green neon sign declaring the place open. Shawn couldn't be sure, their voices were hushed hisses, but they seemed to be fighting over where they parked the car. There were exactly sixteen cars, parked in various positions, away from the couple. One was Abigail's so the other fifteen could possibly be theirs'.

A third person, standing on the curb and waiting for a taxi to pass-the driver wearing a checkered hat atop his dark hair and a tan leather coat-was wearing a long, gray trench coat. His hands were in the pockets, his head bobbing up and down to the music blaring in his ears from a set of earbuds from an I-pod. His red hair had been combed back at one time, but now stuck up all over; the man obviously running his hands through it several times. Finally, the cab passed and he crossed the street.

The last person was a mystery. He or she was standing in the shadows, only a street light showing a sliver of their pale face. Shawn had seen pale people before, unusual as it was for Santa Barbara it wasn't uncommon, but never had a pale person given off a bad vibe like the mystery person across the street. The person's had been looking down, from what Shawn could see, but looked directly at the faux-psychic when he stared too long.

"Hey, are you listening," Abigail's voice brought him back to reality. He looked away from the mystery person, glancing at her.

"What," he questioned noticing the slight eye roll she gave him.

"I asked if you wanted to go to the movies Thursday," she repeated lightly. All traces of annoyance she felt towards him was hidden well, but was still caught with his advanced perceptiveness.

"Why not," Shawn replied letting her hand go and wrapping his arm around her shoulder. "One with pineapple, right?"

"One with pineapple," she promised kissing him lightly on the lips.

They continued down the sidewalk, heading toward Abigail's car. Shawn glanced behind them, surprised to see the mystery person gone. Years of his father's lessons, years of being told to never ignore a gut feeling, hit him and Shawn subtly sped up dragging Abigail with him. They were feet from her car, the moon shining off the green hood, when someone stepped out in front of them.

Shawn skidded to a halt, unconsciously tightening his grip on Abigail. He took in the man's appearance as he said, "Lost? Man, even I get lost and I live here. I can help you as best I can, but if I can't there is a map in that…"

"Shut up," a gruff voice snapped and extracted a gun from his coat. The .45 caught a street light, the silver shining and reminding Shawn of Abigail's car and the moon. He raised his right hand-keeping his left on Abigail's shoulder-and said, "Look, if you're robbing us I swear the only thing in my wallet is an expired coupon for Baskin Robbins and six bucks…" a loud bang cut him off, pain erupting through his stomach.

His arm slid from Abigail's shoulder as he collapsed to the ground. Blood poured from his new hole, his hand automatically touching the wound. His blood was warm and slick as it spread through his fingers. Weakly, he said, "Abigail run." Instead of complying, Shawn heard her scream and another bang follow. He heard a body hit the ground, close to his head. He tried to see who it was, but his body wouldn't obey. Everything was going dark, his body felt blissfully numb. The last thing he heard, before giving in to the darkness, was footsteps running away and someone shouting, "Call 911…"


	2. Chapter 2

**Still not mine…**

_**Psych**_

**Present Day…**

The window was still broken, glass scattered across the sidewalk. Gus carefully trekked through it, glancing into the office through the plastic tarp he had taped over the hole. As blurry as it was, he could still make out some of the mess. He sighed, letting his eyes drift ahead again.

The window guys were supposed to be there by noon, so naturally Gus expected them to be there between three-thirty and never. But being forever cautious and overly-prepared, he still showed up by eleven-thirty-five to be sure they got in.

'Mr. Nimble', 'Mrs. Pickles' replacement after her 'untimely death'-or the excuse Shawn made up several months ago, before all this craziness happened, to get Gus out of work for a case-needed to go to the vet for his yearly shots. Or that's what he told his boss, anyway. _'I couldn't live if Mr. Nimble died so soon after Mrs. Pickles,'_ he had said before rushing out of the building.

Gus hesitated at the door, his keys in his hand. He hadn't entered the office since Shawn's blow up two weeks ago. It was the first time Gus had seen his friend like that in a long time. His anger at the Yin Yang killer, for taking his mom, barely scratched the surface of his recent blow up. And it really scared him. He took a deep breath and put the key in the lock.

He opened the door, stopping in the just short of the threshold. He sighed, wishing he didn't have to go any farther. Wishing he didn't have to make that turn, into the office, and see the shambles that was once their lives for so long. Finally, plucking up the courage, he turned and looked around.

Both Shawn's and Gus's desks were practically bare; nearly everything that had laid on the surfaces was dispersed across the floor. Gus saw a fleeting image of two cops, a head detective and a junior detective standing in the entryway telling him and Shawn, _"We can't find any evidence suggesting foul play. It's just a robbery gone wrong. The Chief is closing the case." At Lassiter's words Shawn exclaimed, "You're missing something! You have to be!"_

"_Shawn, I know how you're feeling but the evidence…" Jules had tried. A fat lot that did her as the faux-psychic turned to her and snarled, "The evidence is wrong! And you have no idea how I'm feeling! No one does!" Gus was pretty sure it would have ended there if Lassiter hadn't said, "Do you think you're the only one who ever lost someone?"_

"_Lost someone? Lost someone?" the faux-psychic had turned his back on the detectives and pushed everything from his desk onto the floor. His computer had crashed to the floorboards breaking into several pieces. "Three feet! Three feet! We were three fucking feet…" he had turned to Gus's desk next, nearly everything landing in shambles across the floor like Shawn's. Gus remembered thinking, selfishly and guiltily, _thank God my laptop is at home_. The faux-psychic was shaking in anger, fingernails digging into the flesh of his palm._

"_Shawn," Jules had tried again._

"_Get out," Shawn growled keeping his back to them._

"_Spencer, we tried…" Lassiter pressed._

"_GET OUT!" it was a wonder Shawn didn't tear his vocal cords from the force of the scream. The real shock hit when his friend picked up his desk chair, by the backrest, and swung it into the window. Glass had shattered everywhere. After that Lassiter and Jules left; Gus tried to talk to his friend, but Shawn snapped at him to leave, too. Respecting his wishes, Gus left and hadn't seen his friend since._

The pharmaceutical rep came back to reality when he heard someone clear their throat. He turned, surprised to see the window guys standing in the doorway. One was taller than the other, the taller one's hair pulled back at the base of his neck. The shorter one was bald, the sunlight shining off his cranium.

"What happened here," the taller asked letting his eyes drift across the floor. His partner carefully stepped around the mess, stopping next to the new gaping hole in the wall.

"Long story," Gus replied talking over his ringing phone-or his own voice depending on who was asked. He pulled it out of his pocket, checking the ID. "Excuse me," he said and walked past the window guys, stopping just outside the Psych office.

"Jules, what's up?"

"Gus, can you get to Shawn's dad's house?" where ever Jules was she was definitely in a car, horns honked around her and someone was screaming at another person to move.

"Why?" the pharmaceutical rep asked his worry radar rising tenfold.

"Henry called me and asked if I could stop by."

"Just you?" it didn't escape Gus's attention how much bewilderment laced his voice. Why would Henry Spencer want Juliet O'Hara to come over? Was Shawn okay? Did his friend do something extremely stupid and Henry was trying to be discreet about it? Where was Lassiter in all this? What the hell was going on? Every single question was making Gus's head hurt; Shawn always said he over-analyzed things.

"No Gus, not just me." Jules voice managed to squeeze itself into Gus's already overworked brain and pull him out of his panicked stupor. "He asked me to call you, too."

"And what about Lassiter." Gus had a feeling Henry didn't want Lassiter involved, but he had to be sure. He had an inkling they didn't exactly bond during their search for Shawn after he was shot and kidnapped.

"He told me to keep Carlton out of the loop. Vick, too."

"What all did he say." Slowly Gus started pacing back and forth, hungry for more information. He wanted to know if Henry mentioned Shawn at all.

"All he said was 'Can you call Gus and meet me at my house?' then he hung up."

"How did he sound?" It was something Gus picked up from Shawn. Henry's vocal tones pretty much told anyone what type of mood he was in.

"He sounded emotionally detached…"

"Almost like any kind of emotional outburst could result in a full on rant."

"Maybe. So, can you meet me there?"

"I'll be there as soon as I can." Gus hung up, stashed his phone in his coat pocket, and rushed toward his car. Closing in on his blue Echo, he nearly forgot the two window repairmen until the taller one called, "In a hurry?"

Gus skidded to a halt, turning to see both guys watching him. He ran a hand across his head, wondering how he could miss that. "Um…" he was hesitant to just leave. A part of him would love to trust that the two guys wouldn't steal anything. The same part really wanted to see Shawn again, even if he was a little off. But the other part, the responsible part that resulted in him telling on himself and Shawn several times during their youth, didn't want him to leave the repairmen alone. Finally he said, "Um… Is there any way we could reschedule…?"

"Look buddy, we've got six more repairs to do today. So, unless you want to wait another two weeks…" the guy let the comment hang in the air. An internal struggle took place, forty-five seconds of 'Shawn needs you' and 'they could steal the TV' running through his head. Finally, Shawn's needs won out and Gus said, "Lock up when you're done," before rushing toward his car again.

He dove behind the wheel, shoving his keys in the ignition. He started the car, backing away from the curb. He threw the car in drive and sped down the road.

The whole ride was full of silent questions and gnawing worries. What did Shawn do? Does this even have anything to do with Shawn? _Of course it does. That's really the only reason Henry would ever call Jules. But why wouldn't he call me?_ That was a good question, one Gus really couldn't answer. Why would Henry call Jules and not Gus? What was going on?

That question continued to roam through Gus's head. _What _was_ going on? _Over and over and over again; a repetition that the pharmaceutical rep wished he could cut out of his head. When he finally reached the Spencer residence, the place once Gus's second home, he was ready to drill several pins through his head. Not only was he thinking the question, he was vocalizing it, too.

"What the hell is going on," he whispered turning his car off. Instead of getting out, like any normal time, he just stared ahead. He kept his hands at ten and two wondering what he was about to walk in on. Was he about to find Henry standing next to his son's lifeless body, waiting for his friends to show up and inform them before he told the cops? _No, Henry would never call just Jules and me for that. He'd have an ambulance there at the very least._ Deciding it was best to find out physically-instead of mentally imagining the worst case scenario-he pulled his keys from the ignition and opened the door.

Jules was already there, her green Bug sitting behind Henry's truck. Gus speculated how long the junior detective had been there. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes, twenty tops. It was long enough for Shawn to have snapped again and taken out both his father and Jules without a problem. _No,_ Gus chastised himself. _No matter how angry Shawn gets he would never kill anybody. _Of course, Shawn also used to be predictable. Now, he was like a ticking time bomb, one that could go off with the smallest nudge, quite possibly the lightest touch.

It was the fastest Gus had ever run without physically being chased. He was up the stairs and through the front door before he even realized he had his phone in his hand. "Mr.…Mr. Spencer," he managed to gasp out as he grabbed the banister for support.

"Up here," came the reply. Gus breathed a sigh of relief, Henry was fine. Not that he thought Shawn's dad was hurt, no he'd never think that. That would be ridiculous.

Slowly he worked his way up the stairs, pausing at Shawn's old bedroom door. The door was ajar, hushed voices could be heard from the gap. He raised his fist, hesitating for a fraction of a second, and knocked. The door opened with a creak revealing Jules and Henry standing over by the farthest wall from the door.

"What's…" he trailed off when they both moved and a wall of pictures, articles, hastily drawn diagrams, and notes-scribbled in Shawn's messy handwriting-was revealed. Even though the cops gave up on the case, Shawn hadn't. He had taken pictures of the crime scene, various pictures. He had also written out several descriptions. _**Tall, gangly brunette wearing a pair of jeans and a gray Abercrombie hoodie. Possibly dating a shorter, fake tanned blonde who was wearing a green skirt and red sweater. Arguing over where they parked the car, I think**__._ It went on like that. He described a red-headed man in a trench coat listening to an I-pod. The gunman who had started all this. A few cars, even the stores around the grocery store. One description caught Gus's attention, making him move closer to the wall. _**Pale face, gender a mystery. Possibly the key to everything. Gotta find this person**__._

"What the hell," he whispered letting his eyes flick across the articles. One was an obit, sitting in the middle of everything. There was an argument over which picture should be used-she had been both blonde and brunette. Her parents asked Shawn what he thought, but the faux-psychic just shrugged and mumbled something about it being her parents' decision and not his. They went with a more current photo; one Shawn himself took a week and a half before she died.

"We were hoping you could tell us," Henry said slowly, looking at everything his son had accomplished in almost a month.

"I haven't seen Shawn in almost two weeks. I didn't even know he was staying here." Gus glanced back at Henry, wondering what he was thinking. He looked over a Jules, her face a mixture of worry and fearful suspicion. Obviously, like everyone else in the room-and Gus felt very bad just thinking it-she thought Shawn had totally lost it.

"I had him stay here while he healed," Henry said turning his back on his now befouled wall. He walked toward the doorway, Gus and Jules quickly following.

"Where's Shawn now," Gus asked trailing Henry down the stairs. Juliet followed him, her silence speaking volumes.

"He claims he had some errands to run." Henry led them into his kitchen, gesturing for them to sit at the table. He leaned against the counter and said, "Since he got here he has barely left his room, he hasn't spoken more than six words to me, and he won't eat. I wondered what he's been doing in his room, it's not like he's still a teenager.

"And when he did leave his room, he wouldn't stick around. He'd take these long walks, stay gone for hours on end, and come home just to lock himself in his room again."

"And today is the first day you decided to check out his room," Jules asked her voice hoarse from lack of use.

"Today's the first day he kept his door unlocked. He left in a hurry this afternoon, wouldn't tell me where he was going. Except that he had an 'errand' to run."

"Another long walk?" Jules glanced over at Henry. Like Gus she picked up on the implied quotey fingers around the word 'errand'. Henry didn't believe it was an errand and-truth be told-neither did Gus.

"This time he took a cab."

"Where would he go?"

"That's the second reason I called you two. The wall was the first." Henry pulled out a familiar phone, a green Psych cover practically taunting Gus. The ex-cop fiddled with the buttons for a moment before a voice said, "_Mr. Spencer_," the accent was hard to place, but Gus was pretty sure he had heard it before. "_I know you saw me that night. I saw you, too. You and that pretty girl. Such a shame she had to die._

"_Anyway, as you are not there to answer I'll leave you a message. Noon, today, I will be where you last saw me. Meet me there if you want answers. And I know you do. See you then_, Psychic." The phone clicked ending the message. Obviously, the caller was more skeptical than Lassiter when it came to Shawn's 'abilities.'

"He must have dropped his phone after the message. Because I found it on his bedroom floor. When I cracked his voicemail code I called Detective O'Hara immediately. I thought he'd listen to you two. Maybe you can get him to come back. I know he won't listen to me."

"Don't worry, Mr. Spencer," Juliet said getting to her feet. "We'll go get him."

"Yeah," Gus replied standing, also. _Before he gets himself hurt, or worse,_ Gus's mind tacked on. He nodded good-bye to Henry and followed Juliet out of the house. _Please Shawn, don't do anything stupid._


	3. Chapter 3

**As I have said before 'not mine.'**

_**Psych**_

**Earlier…**

Shawn stood under a streetlight, hands deep in his coat pockets, continuously glancing up and down the street. It was six minutes past noon, seventeen people had already walked past him none of which stopped. Four were brunette women, every single one causing Shawn's heart to speed up. He had expected each and every one to be Her: his Abigail. But that was wishful thinking and wishful thinking died when she did.

He toyed with his necklace, watching the thirty-sixth car drive by. The afternoon sun barely shined off of it, dust coating the red roof. The driver was dark skinned, an actual tan and not some spray on. He had a crooked hairpiece on his head, almost like he was in a rush to get out of the house. Shawn never understood why bald people had to wear toupees. _They're bald, so what_.

"Penny for your thoughts," a familiar voice said causing him to jump. He turned to the right, getting his first glimpse of the mystery person.

What caught Shawn's attention first was the pure fact that the guy could sneak up on him. The only things Shawn had ever seen be that quiet were ninjas and vampires. He was pretty sure the guy wasn't a ninja and vampires didn't exist.

The man had blond hair. Dark, blond hair that lied flat on his head; it wasn't his natural hair color, though-Shawn could see the man's brunette roots trying to peek out. His jeans were freshly pressed, along with his white button down shirt. His leather jacket, white as his skin, was an expensive knockoff; along with the silver watch strapped around his wrist. He had money but wasn't extremely wealthy. And like the first time Shawn saw him, in the shadows of the very streetlight they both stood under, he had some creepy vibe about him. It also didn't help that the man's eyes, gray like the sky before a storm, were colder than the time Henry conned him into going ice fishing.

"You'd need more than a penny for my thoughts," Shawn said casually, letting his eyes flick back to the street. Another car drove past, but instead of disappearing around the corner like the others it stopped a few feet away from them. It was black, discreet, probably ten years old. No one would be able to mark it as the vehicle of a murderer-_if that's what he is_ Shawn's mind irritatingly reminded him.

"Care for a ride, Mr. Spencer." Before Shawn could decline, the man placed his hand on the small of his back and gently pushed the faux-psychic towards the waiting car. He opened the door, allowing Shawn to get in first. He slid in next to the faux-psychic slamming the door. He barked at the driver to go.

Even sitting down the driver was taller than Shawn. He was also bigger in muscle mass, a few years older than the faux psychic-maybe thirty-eight at the most-and had graying hair that still held enough color to confirm he was a brunette. He was wearing standard, or what Shawn determined to be standard, henchmen clothes: an all black suit and a pair of sunglasses. He had the gunman's image seared into his memory and knew the man driving wasn't him. Shawn wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, so he let it go for now.

Instead, he turned to the mystery man and said, "Who are you?"

"All in good time, Mr. Spencer. All in good time." His accent was snobbishly upper-class with a dash of New Yorker mixed in. Shawn remembered a kid named Michael Trenton moving to Santa Barbara when he was in the seventh grade. Michael had been from Brooklyn and had a thick accent that took four years to break. As well as the mystery guy tried to hide his own accent, Shawn could still hear his Brooklyn roots. Just like Mike.

"You don't want to tell me your name, fine. At the very least you can answer my other questions."

"Oh, I plan to. I plan to. All…"

"…in good time. Yeah, I heard that before." Shawn crossed his arms, glaring out the window. A familiar blue Echo drove by, Gus clearly behind the wheel. He had a determined look on his face. Him and Jules… _Jules, what the hell is she…_ And it hit him. He didn't have his phone on him; a fleeting image of the electronic falling to the carpeted floor, of his bedroom with a flop, hit him like a punch to the face. His father was checking up on him. _Fantastic,_ he thought bitterly making a mental note to change his voicemail code when he got home. _If you do,_ a little voice said sounding, undeniably, like Gus. That was all he needed, a mental Gus: equipped with pessimism and all.

"I'm sure Mr. Guster and Ms. O'Hara are just worried about you and are helping your father who is equally worried. Even though all that worrying is completely pointless. You're in safe hands."

Shawn, a rare occurrence in his life, was speechless. He had no idea how the guy could read his mind. Nor did he know how the man knew what Gus drove or what he and Jules looked like. Nor, an even bigger mystery, who they were at all.

Shawn knew psychics didn't exist, not really. He knew, from firsthand experience, that enough secret investigating and research could get him a 'psychic' vision without a problem. And that's when it hit him.

"You've been researching me." He glanced over at the mystery man. The guy smiled, his cold gray eyes becoming colder-if that was even possible. He put two fingers to the side of his head and closed his eyes, something Shawn did all the time to help him think, and said, "I'm getting a psychic vision. Shawn Henry Spencer, born in Santa Barbara to parents Henry-who was a cop-and Madeleine-who's a psychiatrist. Since the age of five you've been best friends with one Burton Guster, who lived three blocks from you all through your childhood. During your senior year, after years of marital problems, your mommy and daddy split up.

"Since the age of eighteen you haven't been able to hold down a job for more than six months. Then, four years ago, you opened Psych and have been doing that ever since. You have solved more cases 'psychically'," Shawn could practically hear the quotey fingers in the guy's voice, "than most officers on the SBPD.

"Most of the time, under Chief Karen Vick's orders, you are teamed up with Head Detective Carlton Lassiter and Junior Detective Juliet O'Hara. And even when you aren't needed (or wanted, for that matter), you seem to wheedle your way onto _their_ cases. Even when Detective Lassiter would rather shoot you than accept your help." The man opened his eyes, lowered his hand, and said, "Would you like me to continue?"

"No," Shawn replied in a hoarse monotone. He'd been impaled by his own sword, something that had never happened before.

"I know you aren't psychic, Mr. Spencer. Not really." He wasn't guessing, wasn't trying to coax a confession out of him, he actually knew. The certainty in his voice was a dead giveaway, along with the knowing smile he gave when that realization found its way to Shawn.

Before Shawn could even remotely think of a comeback, the guy said, "Now, I know you're going to try and convince me. It's something you do, even when you know it's a lost cause. So, I'll get every little thing you picked up on me out of the way." His voice lost the snobby ring, resorting to full on Brooklyn accent-but mellowed down some from the years spent away-as he continued with, "I'm not from around here. I'm from Brooklyn, born and raised. I wasn't raised rich, but I try to act that way so other upper-classmen will see me that way. Everything I wear is, in fact, from a No Name store down town. And, yes, I'm not a natural blond.

"You see, I know how you do it. I proved it without a problem.

"But what baffles me the most…" he let his voice trail off, glancing down at his perfectly manicured fingernails. Still staring at his nails, seemingly talking to them, he continued, "…is how I could easily figure out in two months what the SBPD has failed to figure out in four years? That has to say something about your police department."

"What's the point in all of this," Shawn questioned slowly losing what little patience he had managed to gain in a month. "Just saying: you take the time to get to know me, do something completely outrageous to gain my attention, yet beat around the bush."

"Mr. Spencer, I didn't kill your girlfriend," the mystery man said in a calm voice, correctly deducing Shawn's '_do something completely outrageous'_ comment without a problem.

"Oh, I know you didn't personally. And Lurch up front, well he didn't either. But someone on your payroll had to…"

"Nobody on my 'payroll'…"

"BULL SHIT," Shawn exclaimed. The mystery man hardly flinched, his face full of amusement. That angered Shawn the most. _How dare he lie to me and act like Her death was some big joke._ Shawn wanted to kill the man sitting next to him, physically wrap his hands around his throat and watch the light leave his cold, gray eyes. But a click stopped him.

Shawn glanced down to see a gun held on him. He glanced up, again, to see the same amused look on the guy's face. _He has to be nutso to hold a gun on someone yet look so creepily entertained by it._

"I can't have you doing something you'll regret, Shawn," the man said picking up on Shawn's anger a little too quickly. It was slowly irritating Shawn how easily the man could use his own tricks against him. Almost like he, too, was raised by an obsessive father who wanted nothing more than for his only son to be a cop like him.

The faux-psychic took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and-in a forced calm voice-said, "Okay, for the sake of the situation," he glanced down at the gun, "you're telling the truth. Then who killed… who would…" he couldn't bring himself to say Her name, even thinking it sent a cold glob of guilt and pain through his heart and gut. So, instead he landed on, "Who attempted to kill me?"

"Samson Mahoney," the mystery guy said simply, putting his gun away when he was satisfied Shawn wasn't about to kill him. "Or, one of his men."

"Who?" the name meant nothing to Shawn. Usually, he liked to know who his enemies were and why they wanted him dead.

"You sent one of his guys to prison. It was about a week after you were shot, the arm wound not the other one…" and it clicked. The case Shawn had been working on was a con artist swindling money out of younger couples. He'd call as a time share dealer, get all the info he could squeeze out of the couple, and run away with a fat sum of dough and an immoral sense of self-pride for a hard days' work-or lack thereof. The man they took down, Darryl T. Bennett or Oliver Caraway-depending on the state-wasn't as forthcoming with his boss as the SBPD would have liked, but he did admit there was a boss. Now he was rotting away in a prison. It should have been a job well done, a pat on the back… except it wasn't.

"Are you telling me…" it felt like acid had been poured down his throat. He was the reason she died. Him. Not some mugger like the SBPD thought, but him. They killed Her to set an example. But that still didn't explain…

"Why are you telling me all this?" he glanced back at the mystery guy, trying to hold the slowly rising bile at bay.

"I was hoping we could help each other. I want to bring Mahoney down, for good. But I can't do that without your skills."

"You expect me to bring down your, what, competition?" it was the only thing Shawn could think of. Mahoney had to be a nuisance to this guy somehow. Obviously, he was a criminal and if there was one thing Henry never stopped stressing throughout Shawn's entire childhood it was to never, ever, ever (ever times a millions) trust a criminal. But if it helped bring down Her killer…

"I need to think about it," Shawn finally said after a moment's hesitation.

"I'll give you three hours." The mystery man pulled an ordinary looking silver flip phone from his coat pocket. He handed it to Shawn and said, "I'll be in touch."

The car pulled over, a familiar building practically looming menacingly over them. The mystery man reached across Shawn and opened the door. The faux psychic didn't move right away, giving the guy a curious look. He opened his mouth to, again, ask who he was, but the guy interrupted with, "Harrison… Bradford Harrison." Harrison gently pushed Shawn from the car, the faux psychic managing to barely catch himself before falling onto the concrete out front of the SBPD.

"Three hours, Mr. Spencer," Harrison reminded him before closing the door. The car pulled away from the curb, speeding down the road and disappearing around the corner. Shawn glanced down at the phone, wondering if the thing was untraceable. _Of course it is,_ he thought bitterly, _criminals rarely give out phones that can be traced to their place of business._

Brooding, feeling guiltier than he had since she died, he began to walk away from the police station. He stopped at a crosswalk, glancing both ways out of sheer habit, and stepped onto the road. Squealing tires caught his attention first. He turned and froze, like a deer caught in a pair of headlights, when he spotted the car speeding toward him.

He was caught between two scenarios. One, and quite possibly the smartest, was to try and outrun the car. Hopefully dive behind some sort of barrier before the car took him out. As much as his brain screamed at him to take that option, his heart just wouldn't listen. It was caught up on number two: just let the car run him down. He deserved it, anyway. She died because of his job, he was essentially to blame. The car could do what that .45 couldn't…

"Spencer move," a familiar voice called across the street. Seconds later he felt someone tackle him, sending him colliding into the sidewalk. His brain barely had time to register why the voice sounded so familiar before his head collided with the cement and blackness greedily engulfed him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Nope, not mine…**

_**Psych**_

Juliet O'Hara was certain of three things. One: she had no problem with her first name as long as people kept their Shakespeare jokes to themselves. Two: the only living things to see her on a daily basis, besides Lassiter, were her cats. And three: the man she loved, the one she'd fantasize about leaving his girlfriend just to be with her, was slowly falling apart right in front of her. Or had been… because at the moment, she had no idea where Shawn Spencer was.

Burton Guster, the man who prided himself on being one of the best drivers around, broke over ten traffic laws to get to the grocery store close to the spot Abigail died. Jules was surprised a cop didn't pull him over. Not that she wasn't ready if one tried. It was an emergency, their friend was in trouble, and they had to speed.

Okay, so that was a lame ass excuse, but it was Shawn they were dealing with. Sometimes he was worth breaking some rules. The only problem was, when they reached their destination, after breaking so many laws, they were too late. Shawn was gone.

Defeated, they drove back to Henry's house. He wasn't exactly happy with their findings-or lack thereof-but there wasn't much he could do. They just had to wait and hope Shawn showed up unscathed. To pass the time, Juliet tried to call Lassiter. As much as Henry didn't want the head detective involved, Carlton was a better source of information on Abigail's case than any of them.

Juliet knew, for a fact, that Lassiter was secretly working on the case. He wasn't supposed to be, Vick told them, flat out, to drop it. That it was a robbery gone wrong; the man would get caught when he slipped up again. But Lassiter, Carlton Lassiter who never went against a direct order-most of the time-, couldn't drop it. He told Jules, in a hushed conversation outside the SBPD, that something didn't feel right about the case. She knew it wasn't the only reason. She, too, had seen Shawn's face when they told him the case was being closed, but getting Lassiter to admit to that would be like trying to get Gus to swim around in a pool full of blood. It wasn't going to happened.

After getting Lassiter's voicemail four times in a row, and marveling over the pure fact that his professionalism never failed to leave his voice even in a casual situation such as recording a voicemail message, she knew something was wrong. It was ridiculous to think that, Lassiter's phone could just be out of his hearing range, but a gut feeling told her something was wrong.

Dialing Vick's number, hoping her gut feeling was something completely stupid, she was vaguely aware of Henry's home phone ringing. Vick's line was busy, something that happened occasionally. Jules snapped her phone shut in time to hear Henry say, "Are you sure, Karen?" which explained the busy signal.

She looked over at Gus, who shrugged. Both didn't know exactly what Vick was saying, but they had a feeling it was about Shawn. "We'll be right there." Henry hung up, turning to them.

"Mr. Spencer?" Gus's voice was a mere whisper. Both could see how pale Henry was, how scared he looked even behind his brave façade. The ex-cop was quiet for a moment, almost like he was letting the news wash over him, before he took a deep breath and said, "Lassiter and Shawn were involved in an accident."

"What?" Gus was on his feet, Jules ran a hand through her hair. Her gut feeling was right, something was definitely wrong.

The ride to the hospital was one of the quietest she'd ever been through. It rivaled the night Abigail was killed, the night everything went to hell. She kept seeing Shawn, dead, along with her partner. The man she loved and the man she saw as, yet, another older brother. Never to talk to them, banter with them, see them, again. She felt tears stinging her eyes and wiped furiously at them. That was all she needed, to go all girl in front of Gus and Henry. They probably didn't want to see that and she definitely didn't want to experience that.

Entering the hospital felt like she was entering a funeral home. Several uniforms sat around the waiting room, quietly talking amongst themselves. They spotted Vick, who broke off mid-question with McNab when she spotted them.

"What the hell happened," Henry snapped at her, obviously too worried about Shawn to care who he was yelling at.

"Henry, calm down," Vick said in a lower voice. Her game face was on, her 'don't panic we'll make it through this' façade, but behind it Jules could see she was just as scared as everyone else in the room. Something definitely was wrong. "Shawn's fine. He has a concussion, but he'll be fine." The bitterness in her voice, just speaking about the psychic, was very out of character for Karen. Shawn may annoy her sometimes, but she never had any bad feelings towards him. _Until now, _Jules thought with a sigh.

"What about Lassiter," Gus asked the one question that had Jules torn. She wanted to know what was up with her partner, but if it was really bad she wasn't sure she wanted to hear it.

"He's in surgery," Vick murmured. _And apparently it's bad._

"Why?" Jules managed to squeak out. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the why, but she had to. Lassiter's was her partner, his well-being mattered to her.

"Three uniforms informed me that a vehicle tried to run Mr. Spencer down. Detective Lassiter managed to get him out of the way, but was unable to move fast enough to avoid getting hit himself. Excuse me." Vick walked away from the small group, her heels clicking over to a newly revealed Shawn, sitting on a gurney.

Jules hadn't seen Shawn in two weeks, and he hadn't exactly looked in perfect health then, either. But now, he just looked depressing. He had lost weight-that was evident just by looking at him. He looked haggard, paler than normal, almost like a shell of his old self. It, also, didn't help that there was a newly developing, purplish bruise spreading across the side of his head. Jules' heart instantly broke for him.

She hurriedly followed Henry and Gus over to the psychic just in time to hear Vick saying, in a forced calm voice, "Every officer I have spoken to told me you saw the car, yet didn't move. Instead of doing the smart thing, the sane thing, you wanted the car to hit you. Why in the world would you want that?"

Shawn didn't answer, his eyes locked on the floor. An elephant could have stormed the hospital, followed by four clowns and the trainer, and Jules was pretty sure Shawn would still find the floor the most fascinating thing in the whole place. _That was random_, she thought shaking her head.

"What's she talking about, Kid?" Henry was giving his son a suspicious look. Like Jules, he could never see Shawn, the man who was hell bent on never growing up, do something so stupid. So reckless. So suicidal. But, Shawn's silence spoke volumes. The old Shawn wouldn't do those things, the old Shawn knew when to draw the line, but the old Shawn was gone. What was left was this imposter, ready to let some psycho take him out as long as he didn't have to feel anything anymore.

"If he dies, let it be on your conscience." Vick's voice sliced through Juliet's already damaged heart, making her breath catch in her throat. _How bad is it? Is he that close to death? No, he's Carlton. The hits can keep coming but he won't give up. He can't._ Her grief was making her angry, something that rarely happened to her. And when she was angry she had to lash out on someone. The perfect candidate, the only candidate, was the broken psychic sitting across from her.

Yet before she could open her mouth and say anything that was on her mind, Shawn pushed himself off the gurney and snarled, "I didn't ask him to push me out of the way. I would have gladly let that car hit me. But _Lassiter,_ Carlton Lassiter who seems to actually give a crap despite his attitude, got in the way. So, don't pin all of it on me." He stormed away before anyone else could say anything, disappearing around the corner and out the doors.

"I should go…" Gus started, but Henry lightly touched his shoulder and shook his head.

"Let him cool off," he responded. He turned to Vick and said, "You need to tell me which uniforms you talked to."

"Henry," Vick began wearily.

"Look, Shawn's my kid. He's done some stupid things in his life, but nothing to this magnitude. I just want to understand why."

"Then talking to my guys won't help," the chief said slowly. "You'd have to ask your son."

Vick walked back to McNab, asking him to run the make and model of the car. Juliet was too preoccupied to tune into their conversation. She was torn between worrying about Lassiter and Shawn and being so angry at the psychic that she could literally punch him.

Someone placed a hand gently on the small of her back and guided her to a chair. She wasn't aware how much her legs were shaking until she was sitting. She glanced over, Gus sitting next to her. His brown eyes were full of worry and anger. He, too, was mad at Shawn. He, too, believed Shawn would never be so careless. He, too, was disappointed. And he, too, might attempt to punch Shawn if he had the chance.

But none of that mattered, not now. She pushed her feelings for Shawn aside-love, hate, and worry- and put all her energy on willing Lassiter to pull through. _You've gotta pull through, Carlton. Please_…


	5. Chapter 5

**Still not mine…**

_**Psych**_

Pacing back and forth, fuming over everything that had happened, Shawn didn't catch the shrilly ringing at first. It took a few seconds before he really registered what it was. He pulled the silver phone from his pocket and stared at it. He was sure his three hours weren't up, it had barely been an hour since the car tried to run him down-since Lassiter saved his life. _That's all I need in this pile of shit that has become my life, to be in debt to Carlton Lassiter_. Pushing memories of becoming Lassiter's lapdog out of his head, he flipped the phone open and put it to his ear.

"Get in the car," a familiar voice said. Shawn turned in time to see a car pull up to the hospital curb. He sighed, noticing the lack of a passenger. Only Lurch sat behind the wheel, looking as menacing as he did earlier.

"Mr. Spencer, my associate is waiting," Harrison said quietly.

With one last backwards glance at the hospital, where nearly everyone he cared about dwelled, he slowly headed toward the waiting automobile. Once he shut the door, Lurch took off. Harrison was still on the line, his amused voice saying, "Quite a show you put on, Mr. Spencer."

"What?" Shawn asked feeling a headache creeping up on him. Not only was the concussion affecting him, so was sleep deprivation and not eating much. He really wished the pain would just go away or, the very least, disappear to the back of his mind with everything else he was dealing with. _Yeah, that would be great, thanks,_ his thoughts snapped at his throbbing head.

"That car could have killed you," Harrison's voice filled his head making his headache spike. He rubbed his temples with the thumb and index finger on his right hand, hoping to staunch the pain. All he achieved was another throb of pain.

"You having me followed," he asked after a second. He knew Lurch wasn't his 'stalker', the man had driven away with Harrison earlier, but there was definitely someone following him. He was sure of it. Criminals had eyes everywhere, and it wouldn't surprise Shawn if Harrison had men moonlighting as police officers. Spies at the SBPD were an asset to someone like Harrison.

"I have eyes everywhere, Mr. Spencer," Harrison confirmed causing Shawn to glance out the back window. He was expecting to see someone following Lurch, almost like Harrison didn't fully trust one man to get Shawn where ever he was going. "Why would you be so reckless?" Harrison's voice dropped the amusement, going completely serious, with a dash of anger on top. "I can't have my only good asset dying."

"I'm an asset? I thought, you know, I was a liability. I could easily tell the cops all about you…"

"Oh, but you won't, Mr. Spencer. You hardly trust the cop friends you have, let alone the entire police department. I mean, they were the ones who closed Abigail's…"

"Don't say her name," Shawn snapped in a hiss, noticing Lurch's attempt to listen in on his half of the conversation. That was all he needed, Harrison's lackey adding several more bruises to his already battered body for yelling at his boss. And, no doubt, Lurch could probably achieve that without even breaking a sweat-several of Shawn's bones, perhaps, but not a sweat.

"I'm just saying, you had your chance Shawn and you said nothing. Chief Vick was in that hospital, so was Detective O'Hara. Hell, your father-the ex-cop-was there, too. Yet you said nothing. At the very least, Mr. Guster could have been another helping hand…" Harrison let his voice trail off. Shawn did see his point; he could have easily said anything to anyone. Even McNab, but he chose not to. His screwed up psyche convinced him he didn't need any help. That he could take care of this by himself.

"Besides," Harrison said bringing him back to reality, back to the throbbing headache that was getting worse, "I doubt Mahoney was intentionally aiming for you."

"What does that mean," Shawn asked leaning his head against the back of the front seat. The cool leather helped with the pain but not much. What he needed was aspirin or alcohol or both. _Definitely both_, he thought as, yet, another jolt of pain rocked through his head.

"What did we discuss earlier?"

Despite the pain, Shawn was able to recreate the conversation without a problem. Harrison had revealed that Samson Mahoney, yet another crime lord in Santa Barbara, had sent his men after Shawn. To which Shawn's already muddled brain realized it wasn't to kill him, but to set an example. Killing Her had been enough of an example, in Shawn's opinion. But apparently Mahoney wasn't done…

"Mahoney knew someone from the police department would save me," Shawn whispered his fingers nearly crushing the plastic device. Why were innocent people paying for something he caused, it just wasn't fair.

"Yes and no. He didn't want just _anyone_ helping you…" again Harrison's voice drifted off, letting Shawn's brain put together the missing pieces.

"Lassiter," the faux-psychic gasped.

"It was a win-win for Samson Mahoney. He got another message across to you, but also got revenge on one of the detectives who helped put his man in jail…"

It took a moment for Shawn's pain-filled brain to catch on, but when it did he felt his stomach drop to the floor, his heart sink. He glanced down at the car floor, willing himself not to throw up, expecting to see his organ lying there. "Jules," he whispered just as the car pulled over.

"I'd run if I were you, Mr. Spencer," Harrison said. Shawn snapped the phone shut. He threw open the door and was already sprinting when his feet hit the pavement. He couldn't lose Jules-not so soon after Abigail. He wouldn't survive if he did.

_**PSYCH**_

Jules just couldn't take the wait any longer, or the smell of the hospital. She mumbled something about needing fresh air and headed outside. Once in the Santa Barbara air, the sun warming her cold skin, she walked toward a bench. She lowered herself on it, pulling her knees to her chest.

For a moment she let her mind shut off, just watched the traffic pass by. It was almost two; most people were still working, so the car flow was relatively light. She counted three red cars, a green car, and two blue. Six cars, six people who were healthy and whole, six people who weren't in surgery holding onto their lives.

She took a shuddering breath, her brain turning back on without her permission. If she thought about it, Shawn had been right. He wasn't fully to blame, even if Jules really wanted to put all the blame on him. Whoever was driving the red Toyota, where ever that person may be, was to blame. And so was Lassiter, in a way. As obligated as he felt to save people, innocent lives always coming before his own-no matter the person-he never exactly thought of the ramifications of his actions. Whether he would be around for that next hit.

That was one reason Jules could justify his ex for leaving him. It had to suck, waiting by the phone for The Call-the call that told you that your… **insert relative here**… was dead. It was one reason Juliet called her mother every night, just to reassure the poor woman that her daughter was alive. Sometimes she wished she had become the teacher she told Abigail she wanted to become; even if it was technically a lie. _Of course, kindergarten teachers aren't exactly safe from bullets, either_, Jules thought and immediately felt guilty. That was harsh, especially for her.

She crashed back to reality when she noticed the man standing across from her, in the middle of the parking lot, looking directly at her. Bright green eyes were locked onto her blue ones, the man almost studying her. He was tall, taller than Lassiter's six-one frame. He was gangly, his clothes practically hanging off of him like flabby skin. His hair was auburn, sticking up almost like the wind had gotten a hold of it. _Which is completely crazy, seeing as there is barely a breeze_, Jules brain tacked on mentally taking in her still surroundings.

Jules wasn't sure what to do about the man. On one hand, creepy or not, it was a free country and he was allowed to stare at her, albeit the rudeness of it. But, on the other hand, it was _creepy_. Some complete stranger, just staring at her, almost like he knew her. Yet, she didn't know him, that was for sure.

Jules was about to get up, to head inside to the crowded hospital, when the man suddenly smiled and waved at her. She froze, fear pulsing through her veins.

There were two things she could do. One: confront the man, demand to know what he wanted. Or two: retreat into the hospital like she originally planned; surround herself with the crowd inside. Even though she was never one to be a coward, confronting that man could be the stupidest thing she could ever do. But before she could make a decision, the man reached into his pocket.

Juliet would have gone for her gun, if it wasn't sitting on her kitchen table. It had been her day off, she was supposed to be cleaning out her closet, but instead she was sitting out front of a hospital most likely about to get shot. She knew she had to move, had to take cover. She would never be able to bring down the son of a bitch who ran her partner down if she was in the OR next to him.

Her heart nearly stopped when she realized the man had taken out a cell phone. The man was still smiling at her, still looking creepy, but looked less frightening now, that he wasn't holding a gun._ A cell phone! A fricking cell phone? God I am losing it_, she thought.

She was about to move, but her own phone rang making her stop. She pulled it out of her pocket, flipping it open. When the device touched her ear, before she could greet the caller, a voice said, "Good bye," and the man across from her waved again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Not mine…**

_**Psych**_

Gus had been sitting next to Vick, watching Henry pace back and forth trying to get a hold of Shawn. He couldn't exactly call his son's cell phone, the I-Phone sitting on Henry's kitchen table, but the ex-cop half hoped his son had gone back to his house. That he would answer, even if it was mostly a one sided conversation. But no one answered at Henry's house; something that unsettled Gus, even if it didn't surprise him.

"Damn it," the ex-cop whispered falling into a chair next to Gus.

"If he gets into trouble, I'm sure he'll call," Gus said quietly hoping he sounded more reassuring than he felt. He had a feeling new Shawn would just try and handle things on his own.

"No, the old Shawn would call. As for Shawn 2.0, well I have no idea actually." _It's like he can read my mind_, Gus thought knowing it was absurd, but still believing it.

"2.0?" Gus glanced at Henry, his eyebrows raised.

"Okay, more like .02," Henry murmured crossing his arms.

They noticed a doctor walking toward the group of cops, Vick standing at his approach. Before the doctor could open his mouth, before he could ask if the family of Carlton Lassiter were around, a great **BOOM **sounding from outside making the entire first floor shake. A few windows blew out, glass flying everywhere.

"What the hell was that," Henry and Gus said together getting to their feet, the lights briefly flickering before shining brightly once more.

Vick shook her head, barking at McNab and another uniform to check it out. They both rushed toward the exit, McNab's tagalong's black hair disappearing around the corner.

Gus began to count the seconds, his breath held in anticipation. Finally, after he reached sixteen, McNab reappeared around the corner saying, "Most of the parking lot blew up. Daniels is outside looking for anyone who might be injured."

"Juliet was out there," Gus exclaimed as Vick and several more officers broke into action. They raced outside, Gus, Henry, and a couple doctors hot on their heels.

The right side of the parking lot was like a warzone, along with a set of benches sitting on the sidewalk across from the hospital's entrance. Someone obviously set off some sort of bomb. Gus momentarily scanned the area, hoping to see Jules walking around the building looking confused. To his disappointment, and mortal fear, she was nowhere to be found.

"Come on," Henry barked pulling Gus away from the burning scrapheap that was once several cars and down the sidewalk.

"Where are we going," Gus snapped trying to pull out of the ex-cop's grasp. A loud siren could be heard coming around the corner-most likely the fire department responding to the explosion and the smoke billowing into the air.

"To find Shawn. If they find Detective O'Hara, I'm sure they'll call you."

"But we can't leave a crime scene." Henry had drilled those words into Gus's head, ever since he began trying to mold Shawn into a cop. "_The shortest statement, the smallest witness, could be enough to make or break a case. Never leave a crime scene until you are told to do so,"_ the ex-cop's voice echoed throughout Gus's head. Even now, after over two decades, he kept those words in mind.

"Something tells me we'll just get in the way and I have a feeling Shawn needs us more." And they continued running away from the building. About two blocks from the hospital, Gus half wishing they had driven his Echo instead of Juliet's Bug, Henry stopped and let Gus catch his breath.

"The Psych office is around here, right?" the ex-cop asked, glancing at the pharmaceutical rep. Gus nodded, keeping his hands on his knees, taking in gulps of air.

"You need to work out more," Henry commented barely winded. That baffled Gus the most, a fifty-plus year old man was hardly sweating, looking as if he were taking a stroll instead of a running, and him-in his early thirties-needed to take a breather. _Life isn't fair_.

"Come on," Henry said after a few more seconds and began running again. Gus felt it would be easier to hail a cab, ride the remaining three blocks, but had a feeling Henry would scoff at him and tell him to suck it up. So, deciding it was easier to suck it up, he followed the ex-cop.

"M…Mr. Spencer," Gus called glancing both ways before chasing him across the street, the crosswalk screen holding up an orange hand. _We are going to end up with Lassiter_, he thought wondering how the head detective was doing.

"Yeah, Gus," Henry called barely glancing over his shoulder.

"W…What makes you t…think Shawn w…will be a…at the Psych office," he gasped out clutching his side.

"It's a start," Henry snapped back and skidded to a halt at a second crosswalk, waiting for a black convertible to pass. As bad as the day had been going, Gus was surprised the sun was shining at all. He watched the blond drive by darkly thinking, _Lucky bastard._

Henry had begun running again, already a good ten feet ahead of Gus. _He's like the Energizer Bunny. He just keeps going and going and going. Doesn't he have a bad hip or something_? Wondering if his lungs were about to explode, regretting the thought the moment he had it, the pharmaceutical rep pushed himself harder and attempted to catch the ex-cop. Finally, air an almost distant memory, they reached the office.

The glass had been replaced, Gus glancing into the office. The TV was still leaning against the wall, something that partially surprised him. It's not like he really believed they would steal the television, it was a big screen and they probably didn't have the vehicle to do so.

"You got the keys," Henry asked breaking into Gus's thoughts. _And they locked the door, too. Man, we are definitely calling that company again._ "Gus," the ex-cop's voice was full on warning now.

"Yeah," Gus said rushing toward the door. He pulled his keys from his pocket, putting them in the lock. He put his hand on the doorknob, ready to open the door. Until three seconds later, door four inches open, Henry grabbed him and pulled him to the side. A loud bang erupted through the air, blowing the door off its hinges.

_**PSYCH**_

It's not like Shawn had never saved her before, it wasn't even the tenth time, but never before had he been so paranoid afterwards. Juliet remembered everything so clearly. _The man was waving at her, telling her good-bye. He had been smiling, a smile that chilled her bones. She would have moved if she hadn't been frozen in fear. She was vaguely aware of someone calling her name, and then she was tackled. She fell from the bench, landing feet from it with a bone jarring crash._

_ She had been pulled to her feet and dragged from the bench. Her and her rescuer had turned the corner when she heard the explosion, it had made her jump. The hand clutching hers, somehow so familiar, didn't let go as he continued to run._

They had run for a good twenty minutes before she was pushed into a small café. She was dragged to the back of the place, a familiar voice saying, "Sit down before you fall." Jules complied, settling into one of the black chairs, her body trembling slightly.

"What the hell," she said quietly through numb lips, Shawn sitting across from her. He kept glancing at the door, almost like he was waiting for someone. "Shawn," she snapped, causing his hazel eyes to land on her. "What was that…? Did someone try to…?"

"Yes," he murmured glancing at the door again. A waitress noticed them and walked over to them. Before she could ask for their order, Shawn hurriedly said, "Can you give us a minute?" taken back, she nodded and scurried away.

"Is that why Carlton…?"

"Yes," the psychic replied glancing back at her. "It's Darrel Bennett's boss. He's the one coming after us."

"Us?"

"Everyone who worked on Bennett's case. Lassiter, you, me…"

"Gus," Juliet interrupted in a whisper.

"Gus?" Shawn smacked himself in the head, going pale. Jules felt her own fear, for the pharmaceutical rep, spike. But Gus was okay, he wasn't stupid enough to walk into a trap. "Jules?" she snapped back to reality, Shawn giving her a worried look.

"Yeah," she said quietly, trying to staunch the shaking of her hands. She clasped them in her lap, starting to feel cold.

"Here," Shawn said handing her his jacket. She shrugged it on, as the psychic asked, "Can I borrow your phone. I need to call Gus…"

"Yeah." Juliet dug her phone from her pocket, not sure she really wanted it back, and handed it to her friend. Shawn took it, flipped it open, and punched in a number. Jules watched him, pulling his jacket more tightly around her. It smelt like his sweat, making her wonder how far he ran to help her. It couldn't have been that far, she had left the hospital probably ten minutes after him. Just thinking of the hospital made her shiver. She could have seriously been hurt, maybe even killed. Just like Abigail. Carlton could have woken up, after his long surgery, only to find she was gone. She shuddered again, once again wishing she had become a teacher.

"You okay," Shawn asked hanging up seconds after talking to Gus. Jules nodded, knowing if she opened her mouth she'd blow chunks all over the table. "That was a stupid question," the psychic murmured after a few seconds. "Of course you aren't okay. Far from it, actually. I mean, physically you are, but mentally… It's not every day you nearly get blown up." he was babbling, a true sign the real Shawn was in there, somewhere, trying to break free. "I mean, if I wasn't there to… to help you…you'd be…" he let his voice trail off, his face going slightly gray.

"Is Gus okay," Jules asked, changing the subject before Shawn puked. She didn't want to puke, but knew if he puked she would puke and the whole place would smell like puke and… _I'd really better stop with the puke filled thoughts_, she thought shaking her head.

"He's on his way. Told me I had some explaining to do."

"You do, actually," Jules confirmed old anger rearing its ugly head. "Starting with why you wanted that car to hit you. You do realize Carlton is in the hospital because of you…"

"I know, Jules. I was in the ambulance behind his," Shawn replied rubbing his temples. The bruise, across his head, didn't look any better. Juliet was sure he had a headache, having had a few concussions in her life.

"Did you take anything," she asked quietly.

"What?" he lowered his hands, trying to act nonchalant. "I'm fine," he said sounding as convincing as a three dollar bill.

"Sure you are," Juliet said skeptically, especially when he kneaded his forehead with his right palm. "I'm sure the waitress can…"

"Don't worry about me," Shawn snapped. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and said in a forced calm voice, "How are you doing? You still cold?"

"No," she replied feeling warmer with his jacket on. Almost like he had his arms around her… _And I am so not going there right now_. She had a feeling he caught her look, could read her thoughts on her face, when he flashed her a curious look. But before he could comment on it the doors opened and his face went back to brooding.

Juliet turned around, catching a glimpse of Gus and… _that explains the brooding…_ Henry. Both walked toward their table, Gus practically running when he noticed Jules.

"Oh thank God," he said and yanked her out of her seat, into a tight hug. It took a few seconds to realize she couldn't breathe. "Gus," she murmured gently pushing him. He quickly let her go, silently saying, "Sorry."

"Are you okay," Henry asked his son, sitting next to him.

"Yeah," Shawn replied with barely controlled disdain. Juliet could tell it took all his self-control not to rub his forehead, again. He was far from okay, but he wasn't about to go whining about it. She had to give him credit; even Lassiter had a breaking point when it came to pain. _Shawn surprises me every day_, she thought, and not for the first time, either.

"Good," Gus snapped, seeing what Jules saw but having enough sense not to press it. He sat down, Jules copying him, and continued, "Now that we know you two are alive, you can explain why I was almost shot."

"What?" both Jules and Shawn exploded. Three heads turned their way-both waitresses, and a customer-but neither one paid them any attention. They were glancing at Gus with barely concealed fear and disbelief on their faces.

"Mr. Spencer and I went to the Psych office, hoping to find you," Gus started glancing at Shawn. "I unlocked the door, but before I could open it any further than a few inches, Mr. Spencer heard the click of a gun and yanked me out of the way. The damn door was blown off its hinges."

Shawn kneaded his forehead, again, obviously getting more and more stressed by the moment. The headache, he was hiding, wasn't helping either. He glanced up at his dad and Gus and said, "I want this son of a bitch gone."

"Who," Gus and Henry said together. Jules thought she knew who he was talking about, but apparently was wrong when Shawn said, "Samson Mahoney."

"Kid, who's that," Henry asked his eyebrows rising in cautious curiosity.

Shawn took a deep breath, obviously coming to some unknown decision Jules didn't even try to figure out, and slowly began talking. When he finished, Juliet couldn't help thinking, _Shawn, what on earth have you gotten yourself into._


	7. Chapter 7

**Are they mine? HA, I wish…**

_**Psych**_

Shawn hated confessions. No matter the intentions-good or bad-there was always ramifications. Like the time when he was twelve and was coaxed into admitting, to his father, that he had convinced the neighbor kids that he could read their minds. That went about as well as a vampire eating garlic pizza. Or the time when he was seventeen, his rebellious side coming in gallons, and he had informed his dad that he was in fact getting his tongue pierced; Shawn was pretty sure Henry contemplated locking him in the windowless bathroom for the rest of his senior year. _Or,_ his thoughts started bitterly, _the time you told the three closest people in your life about how a criminal informed you about how another criminal wants you dead. Good times, good times._

Their reactions were mostly how he expected them to be. Gus and Jules, simultaneously, gasped and exclaimed, "What?" Shawn was pretty sure the waitresses were arguing over who should throw them out. _Two blow ups from the same party; better send in the National Guard_, Shawn thought, instantly wondering where that came from.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Gus tacked on, lowering his voice. "We would have wanted to hear this."

Shawn wanted to tell them it wasn't their problem, wanted to tell them he could deal, wanted to scream for them to back off. Hell, he would have said anything if his headache didn't spike. He bit the inside of his cheek, waited out the pain, and finally, wearily said, "I know."

"No, you don't know." And Henry was off on another rant. Shawn was ready for the disapproving glare, the lecture to end all lectures, even the demand for him to go to the cops right now. What he wasn't ready for, save for the array emotions flitting across his father's face, was for Henry to say, "I wish you'd talk to us, any of us. I mean, since…" a brief hesitation followed, Henry knowing that using Her name was a hot button issue for Shawn, before he continued, "…_that_ night you've been distant, moody and its scaring me. And I…I don't really know how to fix it."

Honestly, if Shawn hadn't seen and heard the words escape his father's lips he never would have believed they were even said by him. Henry Spencer was many things-controlling, obsessive, determined, a hard-ass-but openly emotional he was not. The raw emotion in his voice, the pure fact that it was the first time in forever Shawn had actually heard something other than chastising or a lesson, hit the faux-psychic harder than any physical blow so far.

"I'm sorry," he whispered after clearing his throat, his eyes downcast. The only response he got was a grunt.

The words were still circling Shawn's head ten minutes later. After some arm twisting, major convincing, and a dash of begging he managed to coax his father and friends into keeping quiet. They didn't want to, but it had to be done. Now, Shawn was seeing his father and Jules into a cab. Both were heading back to the hospital to check on the progress of the parking lot, see how Lassiter was doing, and let the others know Juliet was okay. Once their taxi turned the corner Shawn was aware that it was just him, his headache and…

"You could have _at least_ told me." Gus sounded worried, hurt, and a little angry. It was the same voice he used to use when Shawn neglected to mention one of his schemes until they were halfway through it-or being hauled off in a cop car.

"I know," Shawn said quietly. "It's just…" _Half truths are better than outright lies_, he thought as he continued, "I didn't want to see you get hurt. Which turned out to be a big mistake."

"Yes, it did_." _Shawn couldn't suppress a shiver, just thinking about the trap that had awaited the first person to open the door to the psych office. Mahoney was making him really, really consider saying 'yes' to Harrison. "But that wasn't the only reason Shawn."

_Damn, he knows too well_, Shawn thought as his mouth, deciding to play dumb, said, "What does that mean?"

"You managed to convince yourself that you could do it on your own. That you didn't need help. And don't tell me I'm wrong. Because I know I'm not."

Shawn sighed, glancing down at the sidewalk. His headache was starting to remind him of a little kid, seeking attention he didn't have the energy to give it. But that didn't stop him from saying, "You're right."

"Damn straight I'm right," Gus replied as he dug in his coat pocket. Shawn raised his head, cocking an eyebrow at his friend's action. Finally, the pharmaceutical rep extracted his hand, a sample packet of Tylenol held between his fingers.

"Stealing from the company, again?" Shawn asked curiously.

"It's not stealing if your boss knows. These samples were lying around. He gives them out sometimes," Gus mumbled holding the packet out to Shawn. Hesitantly, he took it. His pain wasn't something he liked sharing, or showing, but Gus always knew. Always.

"Thanks," he murmured ripping the packet open and taking the pills dry.

"We'd better go," Gus said glancing around the street. Like Shawn, Gus was getting paranoid. And the faux-psychic didn't blame him. Anyone could be working for Samson Mahoney; anyone could want him dead, anyone…

"Yeah," Shawn agreed.

Both began walking from the café, neither one glancing behind them. Shawn buried his hands in his jeans pocket, wishing the Tylenol would begin working already. He stole a glance at Gus, who was-in turn-looking at him.

"Some month, huh," he commented kicking a rock.

"You can say that again."

They elapsed into an uncomfortable silence, neither sure what to say to the other. They came to the end of the sidewalk, seconds away from turning the corner, when they heard a pair of tires squealing from behind them.

Shawn turned first, wondering if Lurch was ordered to pick him again. But reasoning quickly caught up with him. Lurch didn't drive that fast, on the contrary, he'd probably wait for Gus to go away before even revealing himself. That and the fact that the vehicle was a gray van indicated that he was not dealing with Harrison.

"We have to go. Now." Shawn grabbed Gus's arm, pulling him away from the van. He couldn't be sure, he was too busy running to actually pay attention, but he thought he heard Gus say, "Again with the running."

Shawn spotted an alleyway a few feet from them; one that he knew, for a fact, opened up to a busy street and headed that way. Gus was right behind him, his feet hitting the pavement with each step. They were mere inches from the alleyway when someone stepped in front of them. Shawn skidded to a halt, Gus running into him.

The person in front of him was five-nine at the most, his graying brown hair slicked back in a classic movie mob boss style. His green eyes were unreadable, along with his dark face. He was wearing a very expensive suit, something the faux-psychic would never be able to afford no matter how many cases he solved. On his right middle finger was a gold ring, an emerald smack dab in the middle. The thing could do damage, no doubt about that. He had his ear pierced, a diamond stud sticking through the lobe. His nails were perfectly manicured, his hands overlapping across his stomach. There was no way he walked there, Shawn couldn't see someone like that walking, but there was no car in sight-save for the gray van that had just pulled up behind him and Gus.

"Mr. Spencer," the man said in a clipped, American accent. "Mr. Guster," he added almost like an afterthought.

"Who are you," Shawn asked warily. The vibes that rolled from this guy, vibes that were so familiar it made him want to run the other way, were not unlike the vibes he got from Harrison. Except, unlike Harrison, this man held an aura of danger that Shawn didn't like. Nor, apparently, did Gus who was tugging Shawn's sleeve silently begging to leave.

"All in good time." It was the same words Harrison had said to him, said in almost the same tone. Shawn's first guess was that Harrison had a boss, that Harrison was the messenger. But that thought was stamped out right away. He said neither 'yes' nor 'no' to Harrison, which means there was no point in the higher ups getting involved. No, this man was someone else. And Shawn had a shrewd idea who that was; he just had to be 100 percent sure.

"We need to talk, Mr. Spencer."


	8. Chapter 8

**Not mine…**

_**Psych**_

_We need to talk, Mr. Spencer…_ it all started with those six words. Gus didn't like how they were delivered, he didn't like who was speaking, and he definitely didn't like the look on Shawn's face when the man spoke. It wasn't a natural look of fear like the look Gus knew he, himself, was wearing, wasn't even the patented Shawn Spencer 'hiding my fear from the world' look either. The sarcastic grin he would plaster across his face, the same grin Gus wished he could summon. No, none of that. Shawn's face was emotionless, almost calculating in a way.

"Get in the van, Mr. Spencer," the man said gesturing to the vehicle.

"You must be out of your damn mind," Gus snapped hoping he sounded far braver than he felt. Shawn shot Gus a warning look just as the man pulled a gun and pointed it at Gus.

"Hey," Shawn snapped stepping in front of Gus, the gun now trained on him.

"Get in the van, Mr. Spencer," the guy repeated another gun clicking from behind Gus. The pharmaceutical rep knew Shawn was stuck; there was no way he could be in two places at once. Either he did what he was asked or Gus was going to get shot. And in that moment, after sensing the vibes the mystery guy was giving off, Gus would rather be shot than see his friend go anywhere with this man.

But Shawn didn't see it that way. He took a deep breath, raising his hands, and said, "Fine."

"Shawn," Gus whispered.

"I'll get in the van."

And he did, the mystery man following him but still holding the gun on Gus. Once the doors were closed, once Shawn was blocked from Gus's view, did the man put his gun away. The van started up and squealed from the curb, leaving the pharmaceutical rep alone, on the empty sidewalk.

That had been fifteen minutes ago. Fifteen long minutes where Gus sat behind a burley cabbie and worried. He was heading to Henry's house to pick up his Echo, and then he was going to the psych office. His plan was to research both Harrison and Mahoney, find out who they were. He wasn't sure who the mystery man was exactly, but a gut feeling told him he had to be one of the two; neither one reassuring Gus in the slightest. That was all he needed, to find Shawn lying dead on the side of the road.

His phone rang, dragging him back to reality. The cabbie gave him a bewildered look, obviously reacting to the ring tone. Gus gave him a forced smile, hoping it looked less crazy and more sheepish, and pulled the phone from his pocket. _**Juliet O'Hara**_ flashed across the screen, making Gus hope it wasn't bad news about Lassiter.

Jules?" he answered. Instead of someone actually answering him personally, he heard a familiar voice say, _"I'm sure you're wondering why I wanted to speak to you, Mr. Spencer_." Shawn had called him, obviously using Juliet's phone. Gus remembered Shawn had called him on Jules's phone earlier and figured he hadn't given it back. It was the first time Gus had ever condoned thievery.

_"I'm kind of wondering why this couldn't be done in the van_." It was almost an Old Shawn comment. It actually could have been, if there was sarcasm instead of bitterness lacing the words.

_"Safe places are hard to find, Mr. Spencer_," the man replied sounding like he was checking the room for something. _Possibly bugs_, Gus thought. He had a feeling, despite his intimidating exterior, the man was internally paranoid. Criminals had to be that way, had to be careful who they trusted; anyone could be a cop these days.

"_And you figured an old pharmacy was a safe place_," Shawn asked and Gus could see his friend's own eyes scope the room, not in paranoia but observation.

"_I'm impressed. I actually thought you wouldn't figure out where we were with the blindfold."_

_"Psychic, remember_," Shawn said causing Gus to roll his eyes and smile slightly. A jerk reaction he hadn't been able to shake despite the four years of playing psychic detective's assistant.

"_So the papers say_," the man replied sounding skeptical of Shawn's 'abilities', not as much as the Harrison guy but skeptical nonetheless.

"_What do you say_," Shawn asked. Again Gus was painfully reminded of Old Shawn; the Shawn that didn't answer every question with just a hint of bitterness in his voice. Gus missed that Shawn; he didn't scare him as much as the new one.

Instead of answering Shawn's question, the man said, "_I know you have been talking to Bradford."_ Gus remembered Shawn mentioning Harrison's first name just once, when he started his long explanation, but still had to think a minute to place the name Bradford.

_"Have you, Mr. Mahoney? Or, should I say 'Sammy'?"_ Gus was always amazed what Shawn's mind was able to decipher with just the briefest exchanges. He was pretty sure the man was Harrison or Mahoney, but he wasn't absolutely, 100 percent, sure. But Shawn, Shawn 'mind's like a camera' Spencer, sounded so confident with his guess. Making Gus realize it wasn't a guess at all; Shawn knew who he was dealing with. Fear for his friend spiked tenfold; if this man was capable of killing an unarmed girl, he probably wouldn't bat an eyelash at killing Shawn if he got out of line. _Of course,_ a small voice stated,_ Mahoney didn't physically kill Abigail. One of his men did. _And Gus was pretty damn sure Mahoney had body guards in that room with them.

Mahoney, however, wasn't angry. He, in fact, chuckled humorlessly and said, "_You may change my mind, Mr. Spencer._ _I'm_ _assuming Harrison told you my name, but I doubt he told you what I looked like_."

_"You should never assume, Sammy. You know what they say…_" Old Shawn was trying to claw himself out of the hole New Shawn threw him in. Gus was just waiting for New Shawn to step on Old Shawn's fingers and watch him fall back into the abyss.

They were quiet for a moment, Gus almost visualizing Mahoney's green eyes studying Shawn. Then the older man said, "_You will never fully get over her."_

_And there goes Old Shawn_, Gus thought. The room was engulfed in another uncomfortable silence, Gus's heart thudding against his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, praying his friend kept his temper in check. Hoping Old Shawn was capable of keeping New Shawn in at bay for the time being.

"Hey," the cabbie said making Gus jump. He glanced around unaware they had stopped directly in front of Henry's house.

_"What was that,"_ a voice snapped from the phone making Gus physically stop breathing. He dug some money out of his pocket, threw it at the cabbie, and tore out of the cab. He knew exactly where Shawn was, the old pharmacy not far from The Psych office. He just wished his Echo could reach it before anything too bad could happen to Shawn.


	9. Chapter 9

**Still not mine…**

_**Psych**_

When the door had closed on Gus's shocked face, one of Mahoney's men shoved a black sack over his head. The van then started to move at a moderately slow pace. They travelled for a quarter of an hour in silence, Shawn counted every second. Finally they stopped and the door was thrown open. He was grabbed by the arm and shoved from the van.

"Careful," Mahoney snapped receiving a silent apology from the man helping Shawn…or manhandling. _Yes, manhandling sounds better_, Shawn thought just as his father's voice snapped, "_Pay attention to your surroundings kid_." Holding back an eye roll, he tapped into his other senses.

He could smell the ocean; it was strong, like at Psych or his father's house. He could also smell fresh coffee, a coffee hut close by. A coffee hut that he knew, for a fact, was a few buildings down from his office. The waitress's name was Cindy; she always got his order perfect. He heard the waves crashing against the pier, the same sound he had heard, once again, outside Psych. They weren't far from familiar territory, but weren't so close that anyone could see what was going on.

A map of Santa Barbara flashed across his head, his mind tracing the path. After a few seconds he figured out where they were, just as he was ushered into a musty smelling building. He was lead down a small-what he could guess-hallway.

"Stop here," Mahoney commanded to someone and they all stopped. He opened a door, grabbed Shawn's arm, and pulled him inside. The door closed behind the faux-psychic and the bag was pulled from his head.

He blinked at the dazzling sunlight coming from a partially grimy window. He was standing in an old office. Pieces of an old desk littered the floor, a broken chair stood in the corner, and an old filing cabinet stood, crammed against the back wall, empty drawers hanging open. Mahoney stood next to Shawn, studying the room for a moment. He then moved, heading toward the window.

Shawn felt his arm brush something in his pocket. He dug inside pulling out Jules's phone. Knowing he had only a few second opening he brought up Juliet's contacts and hit send on Gus's number. He quickly slid the phone back in his pocket, hearing the barely audible rings. Finally a small voice answered, "Jules?" Shawn held his breath, hoping Mahoney didn't hear the voice. Instead, the older man said, "I'm sure you're wondering why I wanted to speak to you, Mr. Spencer." He turned to face Shawn, green eyes boring into Shawn's hazel ones.

"I'm kind of wondering why this couldn't be done in the van," Shawn replied bitterly. He was talking to the man that may or may not have killed his girlfriend. He just needed the proof and he could make his move. Gus could be the silent witness that could recollect the entire conversation. Just in case something happened.

"Safe places are hard to find, Mr. Spencer," Mahoney replied scanning the room for bugs; as dangerous as the guy seemed, he was still just a paranoid criminal. It made Shawn figure the guy hadn't used the building before, or had but not in a while. Either way he was afraid someone was listening in on their conversation. And, in a way, someone was.

"And you figured an old pharmacy was a safe place," Shawn replied scanning the office. He spotted an old prescription pad by the filing cabinet, an empty orange cylinder sitting under the broken desk, and a long forgotten business card-**Douglas Mott: Pharmacist since 1956**-laid on the dusty floor. They were at **Mott's Drugs**; Psych was a block and a half away. Gus was obsessed with the place, boring Shawn for hours on end about the old place. _"Dr. Mott was a very well respected Pharmacist." "The place closed down in 1977." "Stop mocking me while I speak, Shawn." _Stuff like that.

"I'm impressed. I actually thought you wouldn't figure out where we were with the blindfold," Mahoney replied slowly.

"Psychic, remember." It was a jerk reaction, how he normally answered a skeptic person.

"So the papers say," Mahoney replied his voice torn between wanting to believe but still having some doubts. It was the same voice Vick used when speaking to Shawn.

"What do you say," Shawn said before the words could be stopped. Even his screwed up psyche couldn't keep the smartass at bay for long.

Mahoney didn't dignify his question with a response instead saying, "I know you've been talking to Bradford." It was the proof Shawn needed, he was indeed talking to Mahoney. He was staring Her murderer in the face, but he knew he couldn't do anything just yet. Not with several men outside, he wasn't stupid.

"Have you, Mr. Mahoney? Or, should I say 'Sammy'?" he wanted to see what Mahoney would do now that his name was out in the open.

Mahoney's chuckle was void of any humor as he said, "You may change my mind, Mr. Spencer. I'm assuming Harrison told you my name, but I doubt he told you what I looked like."

"You should never assume, Sammy. You know what they say…" he let his voice trail off, watching Mahoney's face. The older man studied him for a few seconds, taking in emotions that Shawn probably wasn't hiding well. Finally, he said, "You'll never fully get over her."

Shawn's blood went cold; he could not believe Mahoney would even stoop that low. It was bad enough he killed Abigail, but bringing her up like that. As if Her life was about as important as the weather. He had no right. But before Shawn could do anything but fume he heard a voice shout, _"HEY!"_

He froze, completely forgetting about Gus. His friend had been listening to the entire conversation, he had been taking it all in, and someone on his end had taken that moment to shout to someone else.

"What was that," Mahoney snapped taking the six or seven steps to reach Shawn's side. The faux-psychic tried to dodge him, but was too slow and ended up pinned against the wall, an arm around his throat. For someone who was smaller than Shawn, he still packed a lot of muscle.

"What's this," Mahoney asked snaking the cell phone from Shawn's pocket. He put the thing to his ear and said, "Who's on the line?" there was silence for a moment and Mahoney said, "Is this Mr. Guster? Spencer Senior? The lovely Detective O'Hara?"

"It's not her," Shawn managed to choke out, trying to get free. Mahoney tightened his hold on Shawn's throat, cutting off anything else he was going to say.

"Whoever you are you had better say something, or I'll put a bullet through Mr. Spencer's head." it was quiet for a few more seconds then Gus's tiny voice said, "_It's me_."

"Mr. Guster, I should have known. Did you enjoy the conversation?"

"_You demented_…" Mahoney hung up, cutting off Gus's rant. He put the phone back in Shawn's pocket and said, "Risky move, Shawn. Very risky." He let up on the faux-psychic's throat, backing up several steps.

"You touch him…" Shawn started but Mahoney raised his hand cutting the faux-psychic off. He cast Shawn a steely look and said, "I had no intention of harming Mr. Guster. I have no intention of hurting anyone you care about."

"Bull," Shawn muttered looking directly into Mahoney green eyes.

"You don't believe me?"

"Darrell Bennett," Shawn retorted waiting for a reaction. He, however, didn't get the one he was expecting. He was waiting for Mahoney to say something like 'You had it coming. Someone was bound to die for your choice of work.' Or 'She was an unnecessary sacrifice.' Mahoney, on the other hand, flashed him a confused look and said, "Who?"

"Darrell T. Bennett. The con artist arrested weeks ago. He was on your payroll, I helped put him away."

"Mr. Spencer, I can assure you Darrel Bennett has never worked for me. I would have known if any of my men had been locked away by you. I do read the local paper."

There was a chance Mahoney was lying, a big chance, but Shawn had a feeling he wasn't. Yes, the man was dangerous, paranoid, but dangerous. Yes, he could probably kill the faux-psychic without batting an eyelash, but he didn't. Shawn was still alive; better yet Gus was still alive. Mahoney could have killed Gus right in front of him, could have decided Shawn's choice wasn't worth it, but he didn't.

"I think you're putting your trust in the wrong hands, Shawn. The very wrong hands. I can help you bring Ms. Lytar's killer to justice." Shawn didn't particularly liked people speaking Her name around him, but it was accompanied by the only thing he had ever wanted. Seeing Her killer in jail, or, better yet, dead.

He took a deep breath, his mind so twisted he had no idea who to believe anymore, and said, "What do you need me to do?" Mahoney smiled, his white teeth flashing. "You're going to get Harrison to trust you and then you are going to let me kill him.

"So, do we have a deal, Mr. Spencer?" Shawn was torn; he had no idea what he was going to do. There was still the off chance that Mahoney was lying to save his own ass. But Harrison could have been lying, too. Criminals lied, excessively, and these two were probably not any different. And with that in mind he made his decision.

A few moments later he found himself standing outside the building, Mahoney and his men already gone, waiting for Gus to show up. He knew his friend was on his way, Gus was probably already in his car when Mahoney caught onto the phone thing.

Shawn glanced down the street, expecting Gus, and jumped when his phone rang. He pulled out the silver flip phone, his eyes gliding across the screen. He knew who it was, only one person had the number. He flipped the phone open and said, "Harrison?"

"_Where are you, Mr. Spencer_?" the voice on the other end questioned sounding mildly frustrated.

"Around."

Instead of dwelling on Shawn's evasiveness, Harrison said, "_Did you make a decision, yet_?"

"Yes, I did."

"_And_?"

"I'll do it," he replied and hung up, just as Gus's car squealed around the corner.


	10. Chapter 10

**Nope, not mine…**

_**Psych**_

_Cold green eyes were drilling into her blue ones, making her shiver. At her sign of weakness he let loose a deep, bone chilling, maniacally filled laugh._

_ "Good bye," his voice said a much colder echo than before. The bench beneath her exploded before she could even scream…_

"No," the word was ripped from her lips as she sat up in bed. Breath coming in quick gasps, she let her eyes sweep across her room, expecting to see the man standing near her bed. He wasn't there, no one was. His second appearance had been just a dream. _Just a dream, Juliet,_ she told herself but still pushed her covers off, the room suddenly stifling.

She swung her legs off the bed, her stocking feet brushing her carpet, and stood up. She crossed the room, pushing the curtain aside to look down at the street. There was no one standing out on the darkened sidewalk, but there was a squad car sitting across from her building. After ordering Juliet to go home and get some rest, shouting over her protests, Vick had also commanded McNab to follow the junior detective home. She hadn't told The Chief exactly why she was being targeted, Shawn's words still rolling through her head, but the fact still remained that she was in danger. And as grateful as Juliet was to have the extra protection, it wasn't her safety she was worried for.

She let the curtain fall back into place and crossed the room again. The room, stifling beforehand, had suddenly dropped in temperature. Her robe laid across her dresser underneath a pile of crinkled papers, gun wrappers, pencils sharpened to nearly their erasers, and an old picture of her and her brothers. She let all the other items scatter as she pulled it from the pile, pulling the blue cotton around her shoulders.

Juliet crept to her doorway, the door slightly ajar and the hall light spilling into her room. Ever since she was a little girl, when her fear of the dark was spiked tenfold, she always kept the hall light on. Her mother had told her that as long as there was light, nothing bad could get her. And she proved her mother wrong today, by nearly getting blown up in broad daylight. An unconscious shiver rolled through her as she chastised herself for bringing those memories up.

She slipped into the hallway, the door almost inaudibly creaking as she moved it, and headed down the hall. She was always good at keeping her emotions in check, she had to be growing up surrounded by boys, but now it was hard. She was worried about Lassiter, the doctor's words still rolling through her head. "_We'll know more when he wakes up_." When was he going to wake up, though? The doctor didn't exactly elaborate on that. She was also worried about Gus, he was in this as deep and Carlton, her, and Shawn. Which brought her to her biggest concern…

The psychic was probably getting in way over his head, could possibly get killed if he went through with helping Harrison, and happened to be crashed out on her couch, lying on his back.

Juliet froze, her blue eyes moving over the still figure of the psychic. He looked less burdened in sleep, ten years younger even. His shoes sat at the end of her couch, one lying on its side, like he had kicked them off. His right hand hung off the sofa, fingers barely brushing the carpet, while his left hand covered his eyes. The remote lay on the arm near his head. There was an infomercial on her television screen, the voices mere whispers in the background. On her coffee table was her cell phone, wrapped in a sandwich baggie. Her eyebrows rose in curiosity, but she let it go.

Quietly, Juliet walked toward the couch, pulling the green blanket off the back. She covered Shawn with it, her hand accidently brushing his. Her skin felt warm where they made contact causing her to quickly pull it away. She skirted the coffee table, pausing next to Shawn's head. Hesitating a fraction of a second, she ran her hand through his hair, for once void of any product. Other than his head turning at the touch, he made no further responses to her action and continued sleeping.

Juliet sighed, turning toward her kitchen. She shuffled across the floor, immediately recognizing the difference between carpeting and tile. She headed toward her coffeepot, noticing someone had made coffee. There was a blue SBPD mug sitting in her sink, her sugar sitting on her counter. Not only did a certain psychic make coffee, he also had some, and forgot to put the sugar away. Juliet smiled; glad to see the old Shawn trying to break free from the new Shawn's embrace. She really hoped he could break completely free someday.

Her hand was inching toward the cupboard, intending to open it and extract her favorite mug-a lime green mug, red lettering stating, "_Why make Sundays lazy, when everyday is lazy_." Shawn's sense of humor never failed to amuse her-when she heard a whimper. She froze, opening her ears up to anymore sounds.

"No," a whispered voice followed by a murmured, "I…I didn't…" Juliet turned around, her eyes zeroing in on the sleeping psychic. "Abigail," he whispered head turning to the left. "I…I didn't mean…" he was close to breaking, sending Juliet into action.

She rushed across the apartment, Shawn's cries of 'No' and 'Please' shredding her heart to pieces. She fell to her knees next to Shawn, elbow slamming into her coffee table and making her arm instantly start to tingle. Instead of dwelling on the new bruise, she put her hand on Shawn's chest and said, "Shawn, wake up."

"H…he shot me…" Shawn practically sobbed, a tear escaping and trekking its way down his face. Juliet wiped it away with her index finger and said, "Shawn, it's a dream. Please wake up."

"No," he exclaimed sitting up and knocking Juliet into her coffee table, moving it a few inches from its original spot. His chest was heaving, frantic eyes scanning the room for someone that wasn't there. Juliet waited a moment, letting him regain his composure, before getting to her knees and shuffling towards him again.

"A…are you okay?" she asked, her voice a mere whisper.

"Yeah," Shawn's voice broke. He cleared his throat and repeated, "Yeah," voice stronger the second time. He wouldn't meet her eyes, hazel eyes locked onto the back wall. Juliet put a hand on his arm, feeling him shake. Now that his arm wasn't hiding his face, she could see the bruise across his head. She noted how the paleness of his skin made the wound the most dominant feature.

"W…what did you dream about," she questioned, her voice going slightly above a whisper. Shawn shook his head, turning haunted eyes on her, and mumbled, "I…I can't. I…I don't want to…" his voice trailed off, face blanching further and making the purplish-blue stand out even more. He was on his feet in seconds, racing down the hall.

Juliet pulled herself to her feet, following the sound of gagging and water splashing. She found him leaning over the toilet, doing a good impersonation of someone trying to bring up a lung. She knelt next to him, her hand rubbing small, soothing circles into his back. He was shaking beneath her fingers, his back tensing every time a new wave of nausea rolled through him. Once his stomach was empty, dry heaves wracking his body, he allowed Juliet to pull him away from the toilet. She lowered his head into her lap, settling against her bathtub, gently stroking his hair as he continued to shake. His breath was coming in short, hard to catch gasps, broken up by great sobs.

He calmed down after a few moments, ten to be exact-Juliet counted. She still stroked his hair, listening to each shuddering breath he took. It took another five for the shudders to even out, for him to fall back into an exhausted sleep.

Almost unconsciously now, her fingers ran through his hair as she leaned her head against the edge of the tub. Juliet wondered if this was how he woke up every time he fell asleep, from a nightmare he wouldn't talk about. She wondered how many times Henry had found him, on the bathroom floor, asleep after emptying his stomach contents into the porcelain puke bucket. Seeing Shawn like this, hurting and being unable to help him, broke her heart into several pieces.

Tears stung her own eyes, threatening to overtake her. She wouldn't let them, she couldn't let them. She had to be strong for the broken psychic asleep across her lap, had to be strong for Carlton who was holding on for dear life, had to be strong for Gus who was probably freaking out, but, most importantly, she had to be strong for herself. Had to be strong and not let some auburn haired, creepy son of a bitch get her down. He wasn't going to kill anyone else, he wasn't going to hurt anyone else, and she would make sure of it. She would make damn sure. Juliet O'Hara finally had an outlet for her anger, and she was going to use it.

_**PSYCH**_

_"I'll meet you at my dad's. Just want to check something," Shawn had said when Gus had stopped outside Juliet's apartment. McNab sat across the building in his squad car, flipping through, what looked like, a case file. He had looked up at their approach, waving when he noticed who they were. They waved back seconds before he went back to whatever he had been doing._

_ "Shawn," Gus had started, looking back at his friend, "I really don't think you should be alone." Gus was worried about Shawn and his knack for attracting the criminals of Santa Barbara._

_ "Don't worry about me," the faux-psychic had reassured the pharmaceutical rep, giving him a smile that didn't even come close to reaching his eyes. He opened the door, gave Gus one more look and a quick, "I'll meet you at my dad's." Before getting out, closing the door, and heading toward the building. Gus had sat outside until Shawn had disappeared inside the building. _That had been nearly six hours ago.

Six hours where Gus had sat on Henry's couch, staring at the blank television screen, worry pulsing through his veins. Henry had gone to bed around two, but Gus doubted he was really sleeping. He was probably lying on his back, eyes glued to the ceiling, feeling, no doubt, more worried than Gus could ever feel.

The phone rang, causing Gus to jump. He grabbed the cordless off the table, clicking it on. He brought the receiver to his ear, his whole body rigid with tension, and practically whispered, "Hello?" it was The Call, the one that told him Shawn had been found dead, in a ditch. It was the only reason anyone would be calling at two in the morning.

"Mr. Guster?" Vick sounded surprised, obviously not expecting to be hearing from Gus.

"Chief, what's wrong," Gus asked as a wave of nausea rolled through him. Had he been right? Was Shawn killed by Mahoney or Harrison or whoever the hell was after him?

"Mr. Spencer isn't with you by any chance?" she questioned sounding unsure.

"Henry's upstairs," Gus replied hoping that was the Spencer she was referring to.

"No, Shawn?"

"Why?" the pharmaceutical rep asked in a small voice.

"Because I'm standing outside his place; someone set it on fire." Karen barely had the words out of her mouth, before Gus dropped the phone and raced toward the stairs. Henry was already halfway down, pulling a sweatshirt over a gray tee-shirt.

"How did you…?" Gus started already knowing exactly why Henry Spencer was running as if his pants were on fire.

"I picked up the phone in my room," Shawn's father answered simply. "Let's go." They rushed out of the house, Henry not even bothering to lock his door, and hurried toward Gus's Echo. Henry dove behind the wheel, ignoring Gus's protests, and held his hand out for the keys. The pharmaceutical rep handed the keys over, racing around the car to get in the passenger seat. The ex-cop started the car and pulled out of the driveway. He threw the car in drive and sped down the road.

The drive took fifteen minutes with Henry behind the wheel, Gus expecting him to crash the Echo about fifty times. When the ex-cop stopped in front of the old dry cleaners, the place one of the many homes Shawn had had since moving to Santa Barbara, Gus couldn't help but let his jaw hang open.

The place was up in flames, a fleet of firefighters trying to put out the fire. Vick stood next to a couple officers Gus had only met twice, talking to them about-most definitely-the fire and who could have caused it. It was weird, a crime scene without Lassiter or Jules. Gus had a feeling Juliet could very well be on her way, but Lassiter was far from showing up.

"Karen," Henry called throwing open the Echo's door and racing toward the blonde chief. Gus turned the car off, yanked the keys from the ignition, and tore out of the car after him. Vick had turned at Henry's voice, the two officers walking toward a firefighter.

"What the hell's going on?" Henry questioned throwing a worried glance at his son's place.

"I'm not exactly sure. Some of the neighbors called in to complain about smoke coming from this address. After three calls I sent a couple officers out here to see what was going on, find out if it was just a party close by, but they found this."

"Was Shawn anywhere near here?" Gus asked glancing around for his friend.

"He wasn't here and he's not answering his phone," Karen replied glancing back at the quickly burning building. "I called O'Hara, but she wasn't picking up either. McNab tells me she hasn't left, so she could be sleeping." Gus exchanged a look with Henry, who nodded and said, "Go."

Gus was back on the road before Karen could even throw him a suspicious glare. He sped past buildings, all ranging from apartments to establishments, trying to keep calm. Jules was the last one to see Shawn; she had to know where he went. Hell, he might still be there. Gus just had to keep his fingers crossed and hope for anything other than Shawn being inside his domicile burning to death.

He stopped outside Juliet's apartment and threw open the door. He hardly noticed he left the car running as he raced inside the building. He took the stairs two at a time, nearly tripping on the last two. He managed to catch himself by grabbing the railing. He straightened up, sprinting down the hall. Almost passing Juliet's apartment, he skidded to a halt and began pounding on the door.

"Juliet," he called pounding harder. He was vaguely aware of someone standing behind him. A familiar voice saying his name, asking what was wrong. He heard a couple doors open, a few voices mixing in with the familiar one, complaining about the noise.

"Jules open up," he shouted again, banging harder on the door. His hand was beginning to hurt but he didn't care. He contemplated kicking the door in, or at least attempting to-Lord knew he would probably break his leg or pull a muscle before actually succeeding-but the door was yanked open before he could even make a decision.

"Gus, what's wrong?" Juliet asked looking like she had just woke up. He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted Shawn, sitting on Jules's couch, pulling his shoes back on.

"S…Shawn's place was s…set on fire," Gus managed to gasp out, now fully aware of the pain in his side.

"What," both Jules and Shawn exclaimed together. The faux-psychic had jumped to his feet, racing toward the door. He pushed past Jules, Gus, and McNab. _He must have followed me_, Gus thought finally realizing why the voice had sounded so familiar.

"I'll meet you two there," Jules said ushering Gus to follow the faux-psychic. The pharmaceutical rep nodded, turning to see several people glaring at him from their apartments, and rushed after Shawn. McNab mumbled something about going back to his post and followed Gus down the steps.

Gus had just reached the street when he noticed a familiar Echo peeling away from the curb. He ran to the edge of the street, watching his car squeal around the corner. "SHAWN!" he shouted to no avail. His friend was gone and he was stuck without a ride. "Fantastic," he whispered kicking a rock across the street.

"Where's your car?" Juliet asked several minutes later, emerging from her apartment building fully dressed and stashing her gun in her holster.

"Shawn took it. Can you give me a ride?" She nodded and they ran toward her car.

McNab took off first, Juliet following close behind. There was no point in running the siren, at nearly three-thirty the streets were almost void of all traffic. That didn't stop McNab from flicking them on as he ran several red lights. Jules kept right on his tail, her face concealing all emotions but determination.

"Do you know who started the fire," she threw at Gus. He shook his head, mumbling, "No, but I have my suspicions…"

"Mahoney?" Jules questioned glancing briefly at him.

"Maybe, maybe not." He quickly recapped everything Shawn had told him about Mahoney's 'talk.' It wasn't as detailed as Shawn's account, but he was fairly certain Juliet got the gist of it.

"So, who's trying to kill us?" she asked throwing him another quick look.

"A few hours ago I would have said 'Mahoney,' but now…" Gus trailed off looking out the window. He could see the fire coming into view, not as big as before but still fairly large. He could also see Shawn, watching everything he owned burning to the ground.

Juliet raced toward Shawn, Gus steps behind him. Henry was already standing close to his son, hand resting gently on his shoulder. Jules placed her hand on his other shoulder, watching the fire, too. Gus stopped just short of them, the fire mesmerizing. They stood in their small group for a few seconds, almost in a combined trance, until a voice said, "You four have a lot of explaining to do." They all jumped, turning to see Vick standing a few feet from their group, arms crossed at her chest, giving them a look that screamed 'no more bullshit.' Gus looked at Shawn, Jules and Henry copying him. It was his call, this was his problem, and as much as Gus would have loved to spill his guts right there, it wasn't his place to tell. It all depended on Shawn.

"Chief," the faux-psychic started, clearing his throat. "Everything that has happened today is my fault. Everything, single thing…"


	11. Chapter 11

**Still not mine…**

_**Psych**_

Shawn was no stranger to the interrogation room; far from it, actually. In the four years since starting Psych he had been on both sides of the table, and before Psych had had a couple run-ins with the law to warrant a visit to the interrogation room. But he had never really felt like any other suspect before, not until today.

He had been sitting across the two-way mirror, avoiding his reflection, since three-thirty. It was about five-forty according to his watch. He had told Vick everything that seemed relevant, which was everything, beginning with his-what Henry called-'unhealthy' obsession with Abigail's case. Karen listened, took very detailed notes, only to leave him alone moments after he finished. Juliet was running the fingerprints on her phone and the phone Harrison gave him. Shawn had bagged Juliet's phone the moment he stepped foot into her apartment and had been ordered, by Vick, the moment he finished his story to give up Harrison's phone. Gus had gone to get a cup of coffee, being up all night made him more cranky than normal. And Henry was somewhere, Shawn wasn't exactly listening when his father mentioned where he was going.

Alone, he stared at the table. He didn't exactly like the quiet, it made him think. When he was avoiding Henry-staying locked in his room for long periods of time-he would put in mixed tapes just to drown out the quiet. It was easier to sing **Everybody Wants to Rule the World **or **Video Killed the Radio Star** than actually dwell on Her scent, Her smile, the last words She ever spoke to him, on what movie they would have seen… on everything about Her. It was bad enough he let his mind wander to the crime scene, but it was a necessary sacrifice to bring down the son of a bitch who killed Her.

The door opened causing him to look up into the blue eyes of his father. Henry closed the door with his foot, hands full with two cups of coffee and a greasy bag. He set the bag and coffee on the table, grabbed an empty chair from against the wall, and sat across from Shawn.

"I brought you something to eat," the ex-cop said pushing the bag toward his son. The smell of food hit Shawn's nostrils, his nose scrunching up. Food just didn't seem as appealing as it used to. Ignoring the freshly baked donuts in the bag, he grabbed the coffee and took a careful sip.

"Not hungry?" Henry asked, almost nonchalantly, picking up the other coffee.

"Not really," Shawn mumbled taking another sip. They fell silent, staring at each while they drank their coffee.

After a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence, Henry grabbed the bag of donuts from under Shawn's nose and pulled them toward him. He pulled out a chocolate one, covered in sprinkles. He took a huge bite, almost savoring the flavor. He chewed, swallowed, and said, "You sure you don't want one? I got them from your favorite place."

"I'm not hungry," Shawn replied glancing down at the table.

"Kid, you are going to have to eat sooner or later," Henry snapped losing any casualness he had managed to summon. He placed his donut on top of his coffee lid, leaned over the table, and said, "When I was seventeen I had this girlfriend named Jenny…"

"What?" Shawn asked looking into his father's eyes.

"Jenny was special to me," Henry continued as if Shawn hadn't interrupted him. "She was someone who totally got me, who didn't really care that my life's ambition was to stay in Santa Barbara and become a cop. I thought I was going to marry her…"

"So, you married Mom because she stole you from Jenny," Shawn said dully. "What does this have to do with anything?" he really didn't have time for one of his father's lessons or lectures. He was just too tired to really listen anymore, and if he could he would sleep forever. But nightmares plagued his sleep, horrible nightmares that had him questioning his sanity.

"Yes, I married your mother, but she didn't steal me from Jenny. Halfway through my senior year, after dating Jenny for nearly a year, she was killed in a car accident. I had been driving-we had been coming home from a date-when a drunk driver swerved into our lane. Jenny was killed instantly; I came away with a few broken ribs, some bruising, and a concussion. The driver didn't have a scratch. I wanted to kill the man, wanted to make him pay for taking Jenny from me, but he wasn't the only person I blamed. I convinced myself that I could have prevented that crash. My mind kept telling me 'you should have left the restaurant earlier' 'should have driven slower down the road' 'should have picked another night to celebrate your one year anniversary.' Even though I was following the law, even though we were two innocent bystanders, and even though that man choose to drink and drive I blamed myself for Jenny's death. And I know you feel the same way about Abigail's death…"

Shawn avoided his father's eye, a stain on the table catching his eye. There was no way he was going to admit to his father that that was exactly how he felt. _He_ was the one who decided to become a psychic detective to stick it to his father. _He_ was the one who fell in love with helping people and just couldn't give up the 'psychic' ruse. _He _was the one who suggested him and Abigail stop for a pineapple before returning to his place. And _he _was the one who started all this by helping put Darrel T. Bennett into prison. It was all him.

"But Shawn," his father's voice brought him back to reality, "you can't blame yourself. This is far from your fault. You want to blame someone, blame me. I'm the one who put you through all those lessons, the one who strengthened your mind to see what others don't. Throw a couple punches at me if it'll make you feel better."

"I don't blame you, Dad," Shawn said quietly, eyes still glued to the stain. "I would never blame you." He couldn't believe his dad was even suggesting laying the blame on him. If it was anyone's fault it was Mahoney's, Harrison's, and people like them. They were the ones who took innocent lives every, single day. Took them and destroyed everyone else's around them. Those sons-a-bitches should be the ones in the morgue not Abigail. Not her…

The door opened making both Spencer men jump. Both looked toward the entry way, Jules standing with a folder in her hands. She glanced between Henry and Shawn, the latter feeling heat spread up his neck and across his face in embarrassment. He hadn't exactly planned to empty his stomach contents in her toilet, let alone have a major breakdown in front of her. _She probably thinks I'm a major wussy,_ he thought bitterly.

"I got those fingerprints back," she said crossing the room.

"And?" Henry questioned getting to his feet.

"They matched up with a couple guys in our system. Samson Mahoney, or Walter S. Waters, is wanted in six states for everything from robbery to attempted murder. He's had ties with several major crime bosses since the early '80's."

"What about Harrison," Shawn asked after clearing his throat. An uncertain look crossed Juliet's face, one that Shawn caught even though she tried to quickly hide it. "Jules, what is it?"

"Mahoney has ties with Harrison," she started after a few more seconds' hesitation.

"Yeah, they're enemies…" Shawn said slowly, but trailed off when he realized Harrison didn't exactly admit to being enemies with Mahoney. He had assumed they were, but maybe he was trying to get his partner locked up to get the heat off of him. Maybe…

His thoughts trailed off when Juliet started speaking again, "Harrison had worked with Mahoney a while back, before branching out on his own. Him and his brother."

"Brother," Shawn and Henry asked simultaneously, almost identical looks of curiosity crossing their faces with a hint of caution thrown in.

"Bradford Harrison's real name is Denis Raymond Bennett. He's Darrel Bennett's brother…"

_**PSYCH**_

"He's what," Shawn whispered far from sounding like himself. He had gone pale, his eyes locked on the table. Juliet hated seeing him like this, hated not knowing what was going through his head. She quickly flipped through the top folder, showing him the results.

"It's all there. Plus, I looked through archives for the man who tried to blow me up and shot you…" her voice trailed off, eyes scanning Shawn's face for any emotions. He had slipped on an emotionless mask, one that Juliet wished he would drop. When he had broken down in front of her, showed her a flash of what he was feeling, she thought that would have been the start of him sharing more of his feelings. She had totally been wrong.

"He also rigged that shotgun to shoot the first person to enter psych," Henry pointed out crossing his arms.

"Allegedly," Jules mumbled, but still nodded. There was no doubt he did it, evidence be damned.

"Who is he?" Shawn asked his voice nothing but curious, the mask that stabbed at Juliet's heart still planted firmly on his face.

"His names Francis McGee," she replied, shutting out all personal thoughts and feelings, opening the second folder. The sneering face of the auburn haired man looked up at her. She managed to suppress a shiver, still remembering her nightmare.

"Shawn, is that him?" Henry asked glancing at his son. Juliet followed his gaze, eyes landing on Shawn's face. A flash of anger crossed his face, disappearing in seconds. He took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and said, "Yeah, that's him."

"He's been arrested twice on armed robbery, and is wanted in five states for murder. He's an alleged hit man for hire. He travels into town, does his job, takes his money, and leaves. Or so everyone says. There's no actual proof of his crimes, seeing as no one has actually lived to indentify him. We are the first."

"Lucky us," Henry muttered bitterly. "What do you plan to do with all of this?" Two sets of eyes fell on Juliet, both giving him identical inquisitive looks. She couldn't help but notice how similar both Spencer men were. It was no wonder they butted heads all the time, they were practically the same person.

"Vick has issued an APB for all three of their arrests, but seeing as they only appear to Shawn…" she let her voice trail off. That was the problem, they only appeared to Shawn. And he was currently in the SBPD interrogation room, cut off from all contact from either Mahoney or Harrison. Their arrests may be harder than they thought.

"That's all I have. I'll go talk to Chief Vick, see if you can leave." Juliet backed away from the table, heading toward the door. "I'll leave those files for you to look at." With that she stepped outside the room, heading quickly down the hall.

The police station was abuzz with uniforms, a third working on locating Mahoney, a third on Harrison, and the last third on McGee. Vick had taken everyone off their regular cases to concentrate on this one. She had also sent two officers to the hospital to keep an eye on Lassiter. McNab was still Juliet's tail, but he hadn't been needed since she had stepped into the police department.

She headed toward Vick's office, but froze when she heard Karen's angry voice drift through the doors. "My psychic, his partner, and two of my detectives are being targeted; of course I'm going to use every resource available." She was quiet for a moment before saying, "I do realize there are other crimes going on, but this one is priority number…" she was interrupted, her voice more frustrated when she hissed, "Twenty-four hours? Twenty-four hours won't even guarantee one arrest…" Juliet stepped away from the door, figuring she'd ask Vick later. The Chief clearly had more pressing matters to deal with, and Shawn was, by far, safer here than on the streets.

She headed toward the door, silently slipping outside. She found Gus sitting on the steps, eyes glued to the buildings across the street. She walked up to him, sitting next to him. He glanced over at her, a ghost of a smile flitting across his face.

"Hey," he said quietly, his eyes drifting back to the buildings.

"Hi," she said as her eyes scanned the empty sidewalk. It wasn't that uncommon, the emptiness. Most people were either still sleeping or just getting ready for work. They weren't all like Henry and Lassiter, up at the crack of dawn and ready for the day by six. Of course, they weren't like Old Shawn either. Most _were_ up and working before the double digits.

"It's peaceful this early," Gus commented checking his watch.

"Yeah," Juliet mumbled watching the first rays of light attempt to peak out of its home. She hugged her knees, eyes drifting to the ground below her. A leaf was pulled across the cement, a breeze leading it against its will.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, enjoying the sunrise. When the sun managed to brightened the sky, a pale blue color battling its way to fill the horizon, Gus got to his feet. Juliet followed, stretching her muscles. She couldn't believe something so beautiful could occur during such a crappy time.

"Can you believe," Gus started his brown eyes falling on Juliet's face, "that such a magnificent sight can occur while all this madness is going on?" it was almost like Gus read her mind. She was going to tell him so, when the car skidded to a halt against the curb.

"Who's…?" Gus started but cut off when two guys got out: one very, very familiar. He smiled at Juliet as he took out his gun. "Howdy, little lady. I see you're alive and well." His voice sent an involuntary shiver down Juliet's back.

"No thanks to you, McGee," she snapped glad to hear her voice steady. That was all she needed, showing her fear in front of this psycho.

"So, you've heard of me," he said smiling wider. "That's awesome." He gestured toward the car, his gun flashing when the weak sunlight hit it, and said, "Get in. Our bosses want to see you."

"Over my dead body," Gus spat sounding far braver than Juliet knew he was feeling. She lightly touched his hand, hoping the gesture would calm him down. She didn't want to see another one of her friends hurt. Hell, she didn't want to see Shawn's face if Gus ended up dead. No doubt, it would be worse than Abigail.

"That could be arranged," McGee sneered pulling the hammer back on his gun and pointed it directly between Gus's eyes. "A quick death," he started before moving the gun slowly toward Gus's abdomen, "Or a slow one. Your choice."

"Knock it off, McGee," the other guy said wearily. He was big, bigger than both Jules and Gus combined, in both height and muscle mass. He had graying brown hair and had to be in his late thirties. There was no doubt that he was there to make sure McGee didn't kill them. That fact was confirmed when he said, "You know your orders."

"Look, I was hired to kill a couple people. I never agreed to follow any extra orders," McGee argued, his green eyes briefly meeting the bigger man's brown ones.

"Yeah, but if you kill them now you won't get your money." McGee rolled his eyes at the other man's attempt at reason. The bigger guy's voice got gruffer as he repeated, "You know your orders." The bigger guy turned to Juliet and Gus and said, "Get in the car, please."

"Shawn won't fall for this trap," Juliet barked as her detective skills kicked in. She knew what was going on, and it would be a cold day in Hell before she agreed to go with those guys. A gunshot rang out, Gus collapsing onto the steps clutching his leg. _Hell just dropped a couple degrees,_ she thought and quickly headed toward the car. McGee followed her, the bigger guy pulling Gus up.

The injured Pharmaceutical Rep was pushed into the back seat after her, the door slamming behind him, and the bigger man dove into the passenger seat. McGee squealed away from the police department seconds before a group of uniforms, McNab in the lead, came tearing out of the front doors. _They missed us by seconds_, Jules thought as anger filled her heart, _mere seconds. Damn it._ It was times like these she really wished she was like Lassiter, always keeping a gun on her person. She had-not contemplating a kidnapping-left it on her desk.

As the car disappeared around the corner, away from any help she and Gus could have had, she promised herself that if she got out of this she would never be unprotected again. She would always have a weapon on her. Just to avoid things like this, and nearly getting blown up, and anything resulting in her getting into trouble.

She glanced over a Gus, who was still holding his leg. Blood was seeping through his fingers, a new, unwanted hole in his thigh.

"Are you okay?" she asked in a whisper.

"Let me…get back…to you…on that," Gus hissed between clenched teeth. _This is bad_, Juliet thought trying to take a calming breath. _Really, really, really bad_. She had a feeling it was just going to get worse and it scared the hell out of her to think like that. But she couldn't help it; it was just her psyche's way of telling her she was screwed.

_Maybe_, it started sounding like her ninth grade PE teacher,_ you won't be able to keep that promise, Juliet. Because on the off chance that you do manage to get away from these two guys you still have a bleeding Pharmaceutical Rep sitting next to you. Unless you gain about thirty more pounds of upper body strength in about fifteen seconds you aren't going to be able to carry him. You are completely and utterly screwed._ She had always hated Ms. Packer and her stupid negativity.

The car pulled up to the docks, parking in front of an old boat. McGee put the vehicle in park, turning the ignition off. He threw open his door, getting out of the car. With an almost boisterous bounce to his step, he pulled Gus's door open and pulled him from the car. The Pharmaceutical Rep cried out in pain as his injured leg was jostled. McGee laughed at the sign of weakness before pushing Gus to the ground. He landed on his hurt side, another cry of pain escaping his lips.

"Oops," McGee said sarcastically.

"Frank," the bigger guy warned.

"What? He tripped."

Grumbling, he opened Juliet's door and pulled her out. She fought the entire time, trying to break free of the bigger guy's grip. He just tightened his hold, shaking her to cut off her struggles. He dragged her toward the boat, Juliet aware of McGee following with a stumbling Gus.

"Ah, Mr. Guster, Ms. O'Hara," a voice said the moment they entered the boat. He sounded almost excited to see them, like a host welcoming two guests to his boathouse. Instead, it was an intimidating looking blond man. He had cold gray eyes, colder than McGee's-if that was even possible. There was a vibe that rolled from him, one that clearly screamed, '_Run from him and never look back._ But neither one could do that with McGee and his partner keeping tight grips on their arms.

"I'm Bradford Harrison," the blond said giving them a small smile. "Welcome to the end," he continued gesturing to the boat.

"Give it up, Bennett," Juliet snapped. "I know exactly why you are doing this and it won't work."

"Do you now, _Juliet_, and why is that?"

"B…because Shawn put your brother away and you want revenge." She was aware of the stutter, had really tried to hold it in, and was pissed at herself for even allowing that much weakness to leave her voice. Harrison found it funny, a big smile appearing on his face.

"Not quite," Harrison said slowly. "I gotta tell you, I am impressed you figured out who I was. The way the SBPD runs nowadays I'm surprised you even know your head from your asses." Before Juliet could ask what that meant, Harrison had continued speaking, "Yes, I am upset that your 'psychic' friend helped put Darrel in jail. But there's more to it…"

"Get on with it, Denis," a new voice said and a second man walked past them. Juliet saw recognition in Gus's eyes. She, too, recognized the man from his mug shot. She felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach when she realized the bigger picture. Harrison-or Bennett-hadn't been working by himself to bring Shawn down. He was working with someone else, someone Shawn had spoken to the day before. Harrison was working with Walter Waters: AKA Samson Mahoney…


	12. Chapter 12

**If these characters were mine Shawn would be hurt a lot more than he is…**

_**Psych**_

Shawn had his head down on the table, the new information rolling around his brain, when he heard the commotion coming from above the interrogation room, the door still open. He stood up, taking great care not to wake his father, who had been slumped in a chair for the past few minutes, and headed toward the door.

He headed up the steps, stopping a few stairs from the top. He glanced around the complex, noticing a group of officers rushing back into the station. McNab, leading the group, broke away from them and burst into Vick's office. Shawn couldn't hear them, but he managed to lip read a couple things. _"O'Hara and Gus were taken from out front of the police station." "Shots fired." "A black car…"_

Shawn turned his back on the conversation, trying to suppress the panic he could feel creeping up on him. Harrison went after Jules and Gus, one of them had been shot. There was no doubt this was to get Shawn's attention and it had succeeded.

A ringing caught his attention; he turned spotting the payphones against the wall. One was ringing, the station in too much chaos to really hear it. He continued up the steps, heading toward the phones. He was reluctant to answer it. There was no way that Harrison could be calling him, there was just no way. But, then again, Harrison had managed to surprise him a lot in the twenty-four hours they have been acquainted. Finally closing the final steps to the phone, he picked it up and put it to his ear.

"Mr. Spencer," a familiar voice said, but not the one he was expecting.

"Sammy?" Shawn said after clearing his throat. "You're lucky I picked up."

"Luck had nothing to do with it. You're being monitored."

"Of course I am," Shawn replied, his eyes sweeping across the station for an unseen tail. For Harrison it was always Lurch, but with Mahoney it could be anyone. "So, what can I do for you?"

"You have fifteen minutes to get to the docks," Mahoney stated in a low voice.

"Any particular reason why you need me there," Shawn questioned knowing it would take a damn near miracle for him to get past all of the police officers. He was contemplating full out sprinting toward the door when a familiar voice screamed, "Shawn, no it's a trap…" Jules was cut off when a loud **smack **echoed through the phone.

He had gone numb, voice no longer in his control. Mahoney laughed softly and said, "Like I said 'you put your trust in the wrong hands.'"

Shawn managed to find his voice after a few seconds, a hoarse whisper escaping his lips. "You've been working with Harrison this entire time, haven't you?" Certain things started clicking into place. Harrison had told Shawn no one on his payroll was responsible for Her death. He had also flat out said Mahoney was McGee's boss. So, what if Harrison asked Mahoney to hire McGee for him, as a backup plan if things went south. Why personally hire a hit man if there is a chance of getting arrested? It was easy for Mahoney to lie and say he didn't know Bennett, and he hadn't exactly been lying when he told Shawn that Darrel didn't work for him. He hadn't, they just worked together. His head was practically spinning with his new revelations

"Fourteen minutes, Shawn," Mahoney reminded the faux-psychic. The phone slipped from Shawn's fingers, his eyes scanning for the best way out. He spotted an EXIT sign hanging above a door at the bottom of some steps, the holding cells to the right. He glanced behind him; no one was paying him much attention. He also peeked into the interrogation room, his father still asleep, and sprinted down the stairs to the exit. He pushed the door open, sunlight nearly blinding him, and started running toward the front of the station. He skidded to a halt fifteen feet from the front steps, suddenly realizing he had no idea how he was going to get there. Then his eyes fell on a vehicle parked outside the police department, a plan forming in his already overworked head.

Lassiter's car, the car he loved with every moral fiber of his soul. The one thing he would take a bullet for. The car he barely let anyone drive, and when he did they were only allowed to touch the door handle and the steering wheel-"TEN AND TWO, DAMN IT. TEN AND TWO. MCNAB IF I HAVE TO TELL YOU AGAIN." His car was sitting against the curb, the owner in no condition to use it. Shawn glanced around, making sure no one was watching him, and scurried toward the car. He glanced at his watch, noticing he had lost another precious minute.

He dove behind the wheel, prying the steering panel open. He let the wires dangle down, Uncle Jack's voice already filling his head. "_Shawnie, just take these two wires,"_ _he had said indicating two certain wires, "and rub them together. If the car's got gas, it should start."_ And sure enough, Lassiter's car came to life after a few tries. He slammed the door, checking his watch. He had exactly ten minutes to get to the docks.

"Don't get pulled over, don't get pulled over, don't get pulled over," he whispered throwing the car in drive and pulling away from the curb. He sped past the station, breath held against being seen, and squealed around the corner.

Halfway there he glanced at the radio sitting on the dash of Lassiter's car. Yes, he could have told the police before he left, but he hadn't exactly thought that far ahead. He realized that could very well be his downfall one day. _But not today_, he thought decided that more police help wasn't about to kill him. The docks came into view just as he grabbed the radio…

_**PSYCH**_

Gus tried to move his hands, but they were bound tightly behind him. He kept his eyes from looking at his leg, the sight of his blood always making a wave of nausea roll through him. Instead he glanced over a Juliet, whose head was lying on her chest. When McGee had slapped her, using more force than necessary if Gus should say so himself, she had slumped unconscious in her chair.

"Jules," he tried again to wake her. "Juliet, wake up." He kicked his uninjured leg out, catching her knee. The light tap made her stir, her eyes taking a few tries to open. She looked up, unfocused blue eyes catching Gus's brown ones. "Hey," he whispered eyes casting around the boat for Mahoney, Harrison, McGee, or anyone else. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Juliet replied as her eyes slowly started to focus. She traced her tongue along her new split lip, making a face when she tasted blood. "I guess warning Shawn wasn't a good idea," she said quietly, trying to make a joke despite the situation. It reminded Gus of Old Shawn.

"No it wasn't," Gus agreed trying to smile. He attempted to move his hands again, hoping to loosen the rope some, but once again found his hands too tightly bound.

"Where is everyone?" Jules asked glancing around the boat. Gus couldn't help but notice that she was moving her hands, trying to get loose. He had a feeling she might have better luck than him, having been trained to do stuff like this. Shawn had tried to teach him how to slip a rope, but every time Gus just ended up tied to a chair for several hours until Shawn finally gave in and untied him. It had been worse with the handcuffs; Shawn almost always lost his father's keys.

"They left a few seconds after Mahoney hung up with Shawn," Gus replied letting his eyes scan the boat again. There had to be a reason why they had all left, and he had finally found it. He had missed it the first time, more preoccupied with trying to wake Juliet up and getting free. Someone had set a bomb, the red numbers counting down. There was four minutes, sixteen seconds left.

"Crap. Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap on a biscuit," Gus whispered as his eyes snapped back to Juliet. By the look on her face Gus was pretty sure she had seen the bomb, too.

"Okay, I think I know what Mahoney and Harrison have planned," Gus said trying to sound calm, but knowing panic was just mere seconds from taking over his entire being.

"If it's got anything with blowing us up," Jules started the rope falling to the floor, "it's not going to happen." She stood up, rushing over to untie Gus.

_**PSYCH**_

Shawn raced toward the dock, eyes scanning the massive amounts of boats tied to the posts. He didn't know where Gus and Juliet were exactly being held, but he had a vague notion they were on one of the boats. He started searching the boats, not sparing a second glance at the first boat. He was sure no one with Mahoney's or Harrison's stature would own a boat that old. He was about midway through his search when Harrison stepped from the last boat.

"Shawn, so glad you could make it," he said with a huge smile on his face. He checked his watch before continuing, "And with nearly three minutes left. Bravo."

"I'm here, where're Gus and Jules," Shawn snapped glancing around the dockyard again, still seeing no sign of his friends.

"Oh, they're here," Harrison reassured him. "Somewhere."

"Where's your partner?" Shawn asked hoping the man would slip up, give away Mahoney's position and, in turn, his friends'.

"Right here, Mr. Spencer," Mahoney's voice said, the shorter man jumping down from another boat. He walked toward Harrison, stopping a few feet from him.

"Where's Gus and Jules," Shawn repeated glaring at both men.

"Around," Mahoney shot back as he, too, glanced at his watch.

"What's with the sudden interest in the time," Shawn questioned curiously, almost unconsciously checking his own watch. It was almost seven, what was so important about seven o'clock.

"Nothing," a third voice said from behind Shawn. He turned to see the auburn haired, green eyed, cold smiled man say. His mind automatically flashed back to that day, _He and Abigail had been walking down the sidewalk. His arm had been around her, they had been closing in on her car, going faster than he intended because of Harrison. The moonlight was shining off the green hood, and this man, McGee, stepped out in front of them. Shawn had asked him if he were lost, the man had told him to shut up. The faux-psychic retorted with a smartass comment that was cut off by a gunshot wound to the stomach. He had been teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, trying to tell Abigail to run, when he heard her scream. A gunshot sounded next, followed by a body hitting the ground_. He had done it, he had killed her.

"You son of a bitch," Shawn snarled trying to attack the man. McGee pulled a gun out, freezing Shawn in his tracks. His cold smile widened, making him look crazy. "I've been waiting a long time for this moment," he said in a low, deep growl. "I just have to wait a moment longer."

"A moment? Why?" Shawn was starting to get irritated, why were they so interested in the time? The only reason they should be so interested…

"JULIET! GUS!" Shawn shouted hoping to get a response. Nothing followed, so he tried again. "JULES! GUS! ANSWER ME!"

"Scream all you want, Spencer," Harrison said, Shawn keeping his back to him. "They won't hear you."

"If you hurt…" Shawn started cutting off when a large explosion sounded from the first boat. It was the older boat Shawn had neglected to check, the boat he was sure Mahoney nor Harrison would ever own. They had been on that boat, his friends, and now they were…

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU," he screamed not even caring about the gun pointed at him. He tackled the auburn haired man, the gun going off. It clattered to the dock boards as both men went over, toward the water. Shawn had enough time to hear someone shout, "SBPD! ON THE GROUND! NOW, before he crashed into the ocean below…


	13. Chapter 13

**Not mine and never will be…**

_**Psych**_

Juliet resurfaced from the water, sputtering and trying to catch her breath. It had been a close call. She and Gus were several seconds away from being on the front page news. Speaking of Gus, she started searching for the pharmaceutical rep, finding him emerging from the water feet from her. She swam toward him, grabbing his arm to steady him.

"W…what the hell," he gasped coughing up sea water. He glanced up at the burning boat, some of the debris falling down and around them like fresh snow. _Snow, in Santa Barbara, who would have thought…_

"Sorry," Juliet said recalling how she had to physically push Gus into the water. It was either that or have him die.

"Warn a man next time you want to push him into the water," he snapped just as a loud voice shouted, "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" Both of their heads whipped toward the voice, a loud bang erupting seconds before they watched two people plummeted into the water.

"That sounded like Shawn," Gus commented knowing Shawn better than Juliet ever could. "And a gunshot."

"Which means…? Shawn!" Juliet let go of Gus, swimming as fast as she could toward the spot where Shawn went under. She heard Gus splashing behind her, wondering what the saltwater was doing to his leg.

"Shawn!" she called again, once she reached the spot he had landed. Left over ripples filled the water, but nothing more. "Shawn!" she went under water, saltwater stinging her eyes as she tried to find the psychic. She resurfaced after a few seconds, gasping for air. She was vaguely aware of another person gasping close by, Gus obviously trying to help her.

"Gus, where…?" she trailed off, eyes landing on a familiar jacket. "Shawn!" she shouted splashing toward the psychic. The pharmaceutical rep was close behind her, his worried voice intertwining with hers.

When she made it to Shawn's side, she felt her heart slam to a halt. He was lying face down, quite possibly not breathing, blood pooling around him. With shaking hands, she turned him over. Blood was seeping through a new wound to his side, the bullet from the gun having hit him. He was pale, unmoving, and, her suspicions were right, not breathing.

"Gus, help me get him to shore. He's not breathing," Juliet said and both lugged the waterlogged psychic to land.

_**PSYCH**_

It was bright, the light surrounding him. He shielded his eyes, trying to keep himself from being blinded. That was all he needed, to lose his eyesight on top of everything else. _No, they can't be dead_, he snapped at his negative thoughts.

"They aren't," a familiar voice said. He turned in a half circle, trying to figure out where the voice came from. The light started to dim, helping his eyes adjust to the stark white room. He was standing directly in front of a set of wooden doors. He was curious to where they led, his hand inches from touching the knob, when the voice spoke again. "That door isn't meant for you, yet."

"Oh, yeah, then why's it here? Where is here, anyway?" he was surprised when he noticed he was dry. He had been pretty sure he had fallen into the water mere moments before. Yes, he distinctively remembered the impact, the water jolting his already sore side, and then the slow sinking sensation. McGee had slugged him a few times underwater, he remembered that, too, and then the foot to the face. The foot had been the final blow; the foot had knocked him out.

"Here isn't anywhere," the voice said.

"And where are you?" he asked letting his eyes sweep across the bright white room. She started to appear, a few feet from him, wearing the last thing he had seen her in: red sweater, green tee-shirt, blue jeans, and her hair in a ponytail. She had her hands in her pocket, brown eyes sparkling in the dim light. She smiled at him, his jaw nearly hitting the floor.

"Hi, Shawn," she said quietly.

"A…Abigail," he stammered…

_**PSYCH**_

Gus helped Jules drag Shawn onto the cement, his leg screaming at him to stop using it. He ignored it as he dropped down next to his friend. Juliet barked at him to start compressions, as she knelt next to Shawn's head.

Counting in his head, Gus began trying to restart his friend's heart. Once he counted to five, he removed his hands and let Juliet plug Shawn's nose and breathe into his mouth. Juliet placed her fingers to the faux-psychic's neck, shaking her head when she didn't get anything.

"Keep going," Juliet snapped and Gus repeated the process…

_**PSYCH**_

"So, what, I'm dead?" Shawn asked glancing around the blank room again. His eyes fell on the wooden doors again, still curious as to where they led.

"No, not yet," Abigail replied taking a few more steps towards Shawn.

"Not yet? So, am I going to die?" As many times as Shawn contemplated death in the past few weeks, mostly in the past twenty-four hours, he suddenly realized he didn't want to die.

"It's not your time, Shawn," Abigail said softly.

"What?"

_**PSYCH**_

Five minutes, Juliet had heard that the human body could go only five minutes without breathing before brain damage kicked in. They still had time, he still had time. _He can't die, I won't allow him_, she thought as she plugged his nose and breathed into his mouth again.

"Jules," Gus said a sob in his voice.

"Help me, Gus," Juliet snapped ignoring his sorrowful voice.

"Jules, he's... he's still n…not breathing," Gus stammered.

"He will be," Juliet growled. "Help me."

The pharmaceutical rep snapped into action, trying to jumpstart Shawn's heart. Juliet counted to five, breathing for Shawn again.

"Come on, Shawn. Don't give up on me_,_" she murmured. "I love you too much to let you die…"

_**PSYCH**_

"It's not your time," Abigail repeated closing the distance between him and her. She took his hands in hers, her skin warm to the touch. They were quiet for a few seconds, both just looking into each others' eyes.

"I'm sorry," Shawn whispered breaking eye contact.

"For what?" Abigail asked sounding confused.

"For getting you killed," Shawn replied his voice dangerously close to breaking.

"You didn't get me killed, Shawn. You aren't to blame for this. You never were."

"B…but my job…" the faux-psychic's voice trailed off.

"Isn't to blame. You brought a criminal to justice. It's not your fault his brother decided to take it out on you."

"But…"

"Shawn," she warned letting his right hand go and placing her own hand on his chin. She turned his head to face her, his hazel eyes meeting her brown ones, and said, "This isn't your fault. It never was and never will be. Do you understand me?"

"Yeah," Shawn whispered feeling a tear trek down his face. Abigail let his face go, wiping the tear off his cheek. She gave him a small smile and said, "I love you."

"I love you, too," he murmured as two more tears escaped his eyes. "And I always will."

Her eyes sparkled with her own tears, but she didn't wipe them away. She took Shawn's hands again, stretching up on her toes to kiss him gently on the lips.

"Good bye," she whispered into his ear and everything went black.

_**PSYCH**_

"Wait," Gus exclaimed feeling a weak pulse underneath his fingers, a small cough escaping Shawn's lips. He breathed a sigh of relief, feeling suddenly tired, looking into Juliet's tear-streaked face.

"S…stay here," she said jumping to her feet. "I'm going to get help." Gus watched her race toward the dock, trying to catch someone's attention.

"Gus," a hoarse voice caught his attention. He turned his head, looking down at his friend. Shawn's eyes were half open, trying to focus on him.

"Yeah, man, It's me," Gus replied catching Shawn's hand as he tried to move it. He gave it a squeeze, trying to hold back his tears.

"Thought you…were dead," his friend said sounding weak.

"I thought you were dead, too," Gus mumbled, a levee breaking. He allowed his tears to fall, a couple landing on Shawn's arm.

"'m tired," Shawn murmured as another cough hit him.

"It's okay," Gus said running his other hand through Shawn's wet hair. "Help's here, close your eyes."

"'Kay," Shawn replied and went still again. Paramedics arrived soon after and both he and Shawn were quickly tended to.

Even though Gus knew his friend was okay, he still couldn't keep his eyes off him. He was convinced that if he looked away, he wouldn't be there. It wasn't until they were loaded into separate ambulances that Gus let his worry slip away, along with his consciousness…


	14. Chapter 14

**Thanks for reading, reviews are always welcome, and I still don't own these characters…**

_**Psych**_

**One day after bust…**

_"I don't even know if you can hear me," a familiar, female voice filled his ears, but he couldn't quite remember who the person was. It felt like he was floating on a sea of clouds, a small voice telling him that was damn near impossible. That voice, however, was too weak and he'd much rather listen to the other voice._

_ "Carlton, you missed a huge bust. Two major mob bosses were arrested along with a well-known hit man. It would have guaranteed you Vick's job when she stepped down." The voice was quiet for a moment; he missed it the entire time. _

_Finally she started talking again, tears in her voice, "I…I need you to wake up, Carlton. Y…you are a fighter, you can get through anything. Just wake u…up. Please…"_

_He tried, he really did, but the clouds decided he had had enough of the woman's company and whisked him away to a void of blackness…_

**Two days after bust…**

_"Getting shot sucks," a new voice drifted through his ears, another familiar one. His brain tried to supply the name, but it was too much work so he cut it off. The drifting feeling was back, albeit a tad weaker, and once again his brain tried to tell him that was impossible. The other voice pushed the weaker one away._

_ "Shawn told me it sucked, his father told me to avoid it, even Juliet told me it wasn't fun. I mean, they should all know, they were all shot at least once. And you have been, too. Not me, not until recently. A bullet to the leg. To my right leg, meaning I can't drive until the stitches get taken out. I tell you one thing, if Shawn wasn't hurt he wouldn't be allowed to touch my car._

_ "Shawn was shot, again. I know what you must be thinking 'three times in a month, can't he avoid a fricking gun for ten seconds.' McGee, he's the psycho hit man Juliet told you about, had blown the boat we were on up. Shawn believed we were dead and attacked McGee. McGee had been holding a gun, it had gone off, and Shawn ended up shot… again. He's been in and out of consciousness, mostly out. I thought you'd want to know…_

_ The guy's voice grew farther away, darkness engulfing him once more…_

**Three days after bust…**

_ "I have to thank you, Detective," another new voice, making him wonder if these people had outside lives. This one was gruffer than the previous male's voice, held some subdued authority in the depths. He tried to remember who this person was but gave up after six seconds-he really didn't see the point in trying to remember._

_ "You saved my son from that car. It wasn't fair that you were hit, and it's not fair that you're stuck in this semi-comatose state, but Shawn's alive because of you. It's the cop in you, Lassiter. You find my son annoying, but you still put his life before yours. And for that, I am forever grateful to you…" he tried to hold onto the man's voice, but he was already being swept away by the blackness._

**Four days after bust…**

_ "Do you know how much paperwork this case took?" another female, sounding so familiar, but he was unable to put a face to the voice. "A ton. Four different guys were arrested, four different case files I had to dig up, and four different transfer papers I had to draw-up. Harrison's, or Bennett's, man alone-Nick Manning-was wanted in sixteen different states for everything from insurance fraud to murder. The states are hashing out who gets him. I could care less as long as he's put in jail."_

_ She was quiet for a few moments making him figure her voice had drifted away like the others. Then she started speaking again, "They said y…you should have been awake by now." She wasn't exactly crying, but she was trying hard to keep her voice from trembling. "Come on, Carlton. Wake up. I know you can. Wake up…" she barely got the words out when her voice started to drift away. He was out several seconds later…_

**Five days after bust…**

It seemed like an eternity since the last time he was actually aware of his surroundings. His body felt blissfully numb, but no longer felt like it was floating amongst the clouds. _And it's not possible to do that_, his mind snapped at him making damn sure he understood that. He was, however, laying on something soft. A bed? It wasn't his bed, though, he knew his mattress and this most definitely was not his mattress. _Where am I_, he asked himself, more than a little confused.

There was something across his face, sitting in his nose. He tried to move his hand, get it out, but another hand grabbed his.

"I'd keep that in there, Lassie," a familiar voice said, a small smirk could be heard amongst the tone.

"Spencer," he whispered trying to peel his eyes open. It took a few seconds, but he finally succeeded. The stark white room was bright, making his eyes slam shut again. He groaned, pissed at the light for trying to blind him.

"I'll close that," Spencer said. There was a loud groan as the 'psychic' stood up and Lassiter heard shuffling feet. He heard the sounds of a curtain being drawn, the light blocked off, and the shuffling feet of Spencer returning.

"You can open your eyes now," the 'psychic' informed him. Lassiter complied, just in time to see Spencer lower himself, very slowly, into the wheelchair he had just vacated.

"W…what happened?" Lassiter asked his voice still a whisper. He was very, very, very aware of the fact that his throat was really dry and how thirsty he was.

"You need a drink," Shawn asked avoiding Lassiter's question. He grabbed for a remote, pressing the button to raise Lassiter into a sitting position. The change in position made Lassiter's briefly nauseous, but it passed without any sudden appearance of bile.

"They always seem to have water by the bed in every show, but real life they just don't think that far ahead." Shawn pushed himself to his feet, a flash of pain crossing his face and disappearing just as fast. He shuffled across the room, entering the bathroom.

"I technically am not supposed to be getting out of the chair," the 'psychic' called from the open door, the sound of water filling the room. "Something about pulling stitches and needing rest. Apparently getting shot and drowning are enough reason for a doctor to banish someone to a wheelchair. I mean, really? I have legs, they do work."

Shawn came back, a glass of water held in his hands. He handed it to Lassiter, the detective taking the glass between his slightly shaking hands. He took a sip, enjoying the liquid that rolled down his throat. Taking a second, much larger sip, resulted in a coughing fit and Spencer snatching the glass out of his hands.

The coughs wracked his body, making everything hurt despite any drugs in his bloodstream. He could hear Shawn talking to him in a slow, soothing voice. After a few seconds, Lassiter wondering if he had broken anything already hurt, the coughing calmed and eventually stopped.

"Slower sips next time," Shawn suggested giving Lassiter a ghost of a smile. He settled back in his chair, a hiss of pain managing to slip through his lips.

"What happened," Lassiter repeated, giving Shawn a hard stare.

"What's the last thing you remember," the 'psychic' asked his face serious and… if Lassiter wasn't mistaken… slightly guilty.

"Um…" Carlton let his mind wander, trying to break through the fuzziness of the drugs. A flash hit him, "I was sitting on the station steps." He closed his eyes, hoping that would help. "Um… I heard tires squeal, looked up, and saw you…" and the rest was gone. "That's it."

"That's it?" Shawn's eyebrows rose, his eyes face torn between believing him or not.

"That's it," Lassiter repeated. "Did I stop the car from hitting you?" his mind flashed back to a voice, a male voice he couldn't remember the name to, saying, "_You saved my son from that car. It wasn't fair that you were hit, and it's not fair that you're stuck in this semi-comatose state, but Shawn's alive because of you."_

He couldn't help the panic that crept up on him. If he was hit by a car, if that voice was telling the truth, then he could be permanently out of work. He was nothing without his career, his job the only thing keeping him semi-grounded in this wacky world. It may be hard, and Spencer may annoy the crap out of him, but being a cop challenged him every day. And without that challenge, he was just doomed to be another average Joe-Smhoe who hated their life and wanted out.

"Lassie relax," Shawn said quietly, his hand hesitating over the detective's shoulder. "You're going to be out of work for a few weeks, but your days of being a cop are far from over." Sometimes that really bugged Lassiter, Spencer's knack for knowing what others were thinking. He had a feeling it wasn't one of his 'abilities'-or lack thereof because Lassiter would one day figure out how he does it-just his annoying habit of paying attention. Plus, the heart monitor had spiked slightly with his _near_ panic attack.

"Your knee is a little screwed up, but your doctor is pretty sure some therapy will make it good as new. You have a concussion, so your lapse in memory isn't uncommon, and you cracked six ribs. You should count yourself lucky; it could have been a hell of a lot worse."

Lassiter was quiet for a moment, taking in what Shawn just said. He was right, it could have been worse. He could be dead or in a coma. But he was curious; he needed to know why the car hit him in the first place. So he asked, "Why did I get run down?"

Shawn's face fell, his eyes downcast. This was the question he had been dreading, Lassiter could tell. He needed to know, before he passed out. The drugs were starting to pull him under, his eyelids feeling heavy and a haziness taking over his brain.

"Spencer," he growled losing patience fast.

"The car was trying to hit me," Shawn started and began talking. He told Lassiter everything, in perfect detail. Despite the fog threatening to overtake his brain, Carlton could see everything as if he experienced it himself. A part of him actually wished he did when Shawn finished.

"That should have been my bust," he mumbled partially glad O'Hara was in on the arrests. At least someone he had helped sculpt into the cop she was, was involved, and not just a bunch of officers who didn't deserve the credit.

"Yeah, it should have," Shawn agreed eyes still glued to the floor. Lassiter could tell the younger man blamed himself for what happened, felt a guilt that he should not be feeling. He had never been the comforting type, but he was going to try. "As pissed as I am that I got ran over for you, and believe me you will owe me, I can't allow you to take the blame for this."

"But…"

He held up a hand, cutting the 'psychic' off. "No buts. You see, I was the one…" Lassiter couldn't believe he was about to admit this. He had forbidden himself from saying anything, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He cleared his throat, continuing, "I asked Vick to call you in on the Bennett case. I was stuck, needed the help, and…"

"You kicked your pride to the curb and had The Chief call me," Shawn finished a small smile on his face.

"Y…y…yes," Lassiter managed to say, his voice a whisper. He cleared his throat a second time, aware of his still slightly dry throat, and said, "You want to blame someone, blame me." He yawned, his body losing the fight with the drugs.

"You'd better get some sleep," Shawn said lowering his bed. He rolled toward the door, Lassiter's eyes following him.

"Hey," the detective called making the 'psychic' freeze. "You tell anyone I admitted needing your help I'll shoot you." Shawn smiled slightly before opening the door and wheeling out into the hall. Lassiter was asleep before the door closed.

_**PSYCH**_

**1 month later…**

Juliet stood in front of her bathroom mirror, trying to decide if she should wear her hair up or down. He had told her several times that he liked her hair both ways, but she was still convinced that he liked one way better than the other.

A knock at her door made her look away from the mirror, eyes glancing down the hall. He was there, he was there and she wasn't ready. Her hair wasn't right, she was wearing sweatpants and a tank top, and she wasn't wearing any make-up.

"Crap," she whispered as a second knock filled the apartment. She backed away from the mirror, racing down the hall. Her bare feet shuffled across her carpet, making her even more aware of how she wasn't remotely ready.

"Jules," he called through the door, knocking a third time. "If you want me to come back…" she pulled the door open, taking in his appearance. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a blue tee-shirt. He had on a black jacket, having left his brown one across her couch a few nights ago. In his hands were a pizza and a bottle of soda. He grinned down at her and said, "I realized asking you to dinner, ten minutes ago, in a text message, was far from a fair warning. So, I brought this." Juliet knew he wasn't telling the whole truth, there was no doubt he had already gotten the pizza before he called. She didn't mind, eating-in beat spending another minute in front of her mirror.

"That's fine," she replied with a smile.

"Shawn do I have to keep standing out here," a familiar voice said as Gus came into view. "Juliet's neighbors still haven't forgiven me for waking them up at three in the morning."

"I brought Gus, too," Shawn said giving her a sheepish grin.

"Come in," Juliet responded stepping back to let the two in.

Her's and Shawn's relationship was very complicated to Juliet. He had asked her to dinner about two weeks after Abigail's killers were caught. It had been in the hospital cafeteria, both having just finished visiting Lassiter, and ended with a quick hug. Juliet knew it hadn't been a real date, Shawn still hurting over Abigail's death, but it was the beginning of him showing up at her doorstep every other night with take-out. A few times he brought Gus, but most of the time he was alone. And each time, he would give her a peck on the cheek before leaving.

She wasn't exactly sure what they were, was waiting until Shawn was ready to discuss their relationship. It was his call, she was already invested, he just needed to make a move. There was a fifty-fifty chance they were a couple, but there was also a chance they were just friends. Either one would make Juliet happy; she just liked hanging out with Shawn… and Gus apparently.

"What kind of pizza is it?" Juliet asked, already having a vague notion, following the two friends into her kitchen.

"A third pepperoni, a third sausage, and…" Gus trailed off. Shawn quickly picked up where he left off, "A third pineapple. I call it pineroniausage pizza. It'll one day be a delicacy."

"Where," Gus snorted. "Unless you plan to make your own country…" a look crossed Shawn's face, Gus and Jules knowing exactly what that look meant. "No, Shawn, we will not help you start your own country."

"Oh, come on Gus. It could be called Shawntopia. The flag could be lime green with a pineapple in the middle. A smiling pineapple, who is waving, and wearing sunglasses…" he kept rattling off what his flag would look like, Gus rolling his eyes after every new feature.

After a few more minutes of Shawn's talk of Shawntopia they sat at the table. Gus opened the box, allowing Jules to take the first piece. While they ate, Jules brought up Central Coast and let Gus rattle on about his other job. Her eyes were on Shawn, watching him carefully. Despite his battle to become Old Shawn, New Shawn would rear his head at odd intervals; like he was at that moment.

Shawn was looking down at his plate, picking at his pizza. He was brooding, his mind a million miles away. She had asked him, a few times, where his mind went, but he hadn't been as forthcoming with an answer as Jules would have wanted. Sometimes she wondered if he still blamed himself, for what happened, but he was keeping mum. He had told her, the day after he was shot, that '_I figured it'd get easier, seeing her killer behind bars, but it didn't. Not really.'_

"Earth to Jules," a voice said making her jump. She looked around to see Shawn and Gus looking directly at her, questioning expressions across their faces. She shook her head, clearing away all of her thoughts, and said, "What?"

"I said, 'would you like another piece?'" Shawn said turning the pizza box toward her. She shook her head, letting the two guys finish it up.

Once they were done with the pizza, three slices-one with each topping-sitting in her fridge, they watched a little television. There was a _Matlock_ marathon on, the only thing all three could agree on. They watched six episodes of the show, not paying much attention. It wasn't until the beginning of the seventh episode that Gus checked his watch and jumped up.

"I have to go. I have to get up early tomorrow." Grabbing his jacket he limped toward the door, the bullet wound still bothering him, and was gone before Shawn could protest his sudden departure.

Juliet and Shawn exchanged quick looks, both smiling and shaking their heads. They returned to _Matlock, _watching two more episodes. As the ending credits rolled after the ninth episode, Shawn stood up.

"Leaving?" Jules asked trying to sound mildly curious and not majorly disappointed.

"My dad doesn't like it when I get in too late," Shawn replied pulling his jacket on. He had been staying with Henry until he could get back on his feet; Juliet was mildly surprised they hadn't killed each other, yet, or at least attempted to get the other arrested.

She stood, following him to the door. She opened the door for him, expecting the usual peck on the cheek. What she wasn't expecting was him taking her face between his hands and lightly kissing her on the lips. It only lasted a few seconds but it felt much longer. He pulled away from her, backing out the door.

"See you tomorrow," he said and headed down the hall. Jules watched him go, waiting until he disappeared down the stairs before closing the door. Alone she started jumping, whispering over and over "Yes, yes, yes." It wasn't until the woman below her hammered on her ceiling with her broom that Juliet calmed down. She flipped her television off, creeping down her hallway toward her bedroom. That night, she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

_**PSYCH**_

Lassiter heard a knock on his door. He stood, grabbing his crutches from the floor. He situated them under his arms, swinging them around so he faced the front door. He clicked his way across the room, reaching the door in a matter of seconds. He was getting better at using the crutches, not having had to use them for almost a decade.

He opened the door to find no one. He growled in annoyance, contemplating the demise of those damn neighborhood kids. He went to close the door, but found an envelope stuck to it with one word written across the front: **Lassie**. He peeled it off, recognizing the handwriting, and closed the door.

He clicked across the living room, sitting down on his couch. He put his crutches back on the floor, still staring at the envelope. He flipped it over, opening it up. Inside were five scraps of paper, written out in the same handwriting, all in different colored construction paper. There was also a hastily written note:

**Lassie,**

** For saving my life I have decided to do something nice for you. In your hands are five 'No Shawn for the day' cards. Yes, I know they are written on paper not cards, but you get the idea. Just hand me one card the day before and you won't see me the next day. Just remember, don't use them all in the same week. You only get five…**

**Anyhoo, I'm going to go, I have a country to create,**

**Thanks for the rescue; I hope this repays my debt,**

**Shawn Spencer**

**Head Psychic Consultant for the Santa Barbara Police Department and Lassie's Hair stylist**

**(Seriously, you should let me give you some tips. You totally need them.)**

Lassiter rolled his eyes at the note, shoving 'cards' and letter back in the envelope. Yes, he would use Shawn's ludicrous idea; a day without Shawn had always been his dream. But Spencer had another thing coming if he thought this would repay his debt. Lassiter needed his car washed, his lawn mowed, his hedges clipped, his house repainted…

He grabbed a pad of paper and a pen off the coffee table, quickly jotting down his ideas and several more. Shawn's debt would be paid when he did everything on the list: every single thing. And with a smile Lassiter kept writing. _Maybe I can get up to one-hundred items by the end of the day_, he thought with a chuckle. _That would be awesome..._

**END…**


End file.
